


Only in Gotham: Craft Store Edition

by carolina_batboys



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfamily, Bruce Wayne is Batman, College Student Tim Drake, Crack, Craft Store, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Only in Gotham, Red Bull, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake’s Red Bull addiction, no beta we die like robins, she works in a craft store
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 26,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolina_batboys/pseuds/carolina_batboys
Summary: Bowie Chandler is literally just trying to pay her Gotham U tuition by working overnight shifts at Gotham’s 24/7 craft store. That’s all. That’s IT.Then the bats start dropping in, and her job gets a lot more complicated.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Tim Drake, Damian Wayne & Original Female Character, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Original Female Character, Jason Todd & Original Female Character, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Original Female Character
Comments: 730
Kudos: 1076
Collections: Bruce Wayne and his ever growing batfam, Fics that I want to read once they are complete, oc self insertSI





	1. One Bat

The first bat Bowie met was the smallest.

She was working the overnight shift at the Gotham location of Marks, a chain crafts store. On that particular night, Bowie was doing her homework on the counter and sitting on a stool behind the cash register. Honestly, she would have probably been passed out and drooling on the counter if not for the Red Bull next to her binder. The bell at the entrance rang just a moment before the door slammed into the wall and Bowie nearly fell off her stool. Well, she was most definitely awake  _ now _ . She managed to hop off the stool with some dignity and headed to the entrance, preparing to switch to customer service mode. 

“Welcome to Marks, how can I-“

Bowie stopped dead in her tracks, because there was no way in hell that fucking  _ Robin _ was inside her crafts store right now.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. She noticed with a tiny bit of glee that she had at  _ least _ six inches on the legendary Robin, but that glee quickly evaporated when she glanced at the sword strapped to his side. He was looking up at her with arms crossed, the slightest beginnings of a sneer, and a quirked eyebrow, indicating that he wasn’t impressed. 

This wasn’t the Robin that Bowie had grown up with. Every Gothamite had  _ their  _ Robin, the one who was running around fighting crime at the time in their childhood when they had been most in awe of the so-called dynamic duo. Hers had been the one before the current iteration; the third, maybe? It was anyone’s guess as to how many Robins there had been, but the most common estimate was four, the most recent of which was somehow standing four feet away from her.

“...how can I help you?” Bowie finished meekly, still trying to grasp what was standing in front of her. Robin hesitated for a moment but scoffed and looked away, making to exit out the front door. 

“I doubt  _ you _ could help me, wench,” he threw over his shoulder, his hand reaching out to open the door.

“Well, you must have come in here for  _ something _ .”

Both of them froze.  _ Shit _ , now he was probably going to shishkebab her for her insolence. Robin slowly turned back around to face her, eyes narrowed under the domino mask. She braced herself and prepared for the worst.

“...I require art supplies.”

Was that… embarrassment in his voice? Bowie looked at him more closely, and yes, he was embarrassed. She got the idea that he probably wasn’t used to asking for ‘trivial’ things like art supplies. Poor kid. He deserved all the art supplies in the  _ world _ . 

“...okay, well, what kind of art supplies? What are you looking to do?” She asked, noting how he seemed to relax the slightest bit at her apparent acceptance. This child was in  _ desperate _ need of some attention.

“I am going to paint. I need… suggestions as to what products I should obtain,” he mumbled, still looking less than thrilled at the prospect of admitting he needed help. Bowie decided right then and there that she was going to give this kid all the help he needed and then some, free of charge, no questions asked.

“Okay, well, we have a ton of paints! I can also get you brushes and canvases! Follow me this way.” She led him to the back of the store where the painting supplies were and proceeded to give him a detailed walkthrough of everything he would need. Every time she asked what he wanted or asked for his opinion, he seemed to open up a bit more. It was kind of heartbreaking to see a kid so closed off that he didn’t expect people to give him a choice, even in something as simple as shopping. Soon they both had an armful of canvases, paints, and brushes that they could barely carry without falling on their faces. (Well, Bowie was struggling anyway. Robin seemed perfectly capable.) He was the closest to smiling that he had been all night as they arrived at the register. They dumped all their supplies down on the counter and as Bowie began scanning them for him, he glanced around the store. 

“Why is this location open at 2:30 in the morning?” Robin asked, squinting in confusion. Bowie almost had to laugh at how much he looked like a child, and how much the facial expression contradicted the sword at his side and the weapons most likely hidden all over him. She was scanning art supplies for a small human who could incapacitate her in two seconds flat. Oh, what a world.

“Because if we’re not open 24/7, we’re going to get looted,” Bowie responded, gesturing to the city outside the shop’s doors. Robin followed her gaze and seemed to understand, but then looked back at her with his head tilted to the side.

“Why are you here?” He asked and Bowie snorted in response.

“Because I’m a broke Gotham U student and I need to pay my tuition somehow.” Unlike all the trust fund babies at GU.  _ Especially  _ Tim Drake. Her pet peeve was in  _ all _ of her classes and didn’t even have to  _ work _ to pay the tuition or to excel in class. Fuck Tim Drake.

“But if you are in school, then why are you working the night shifts?”

“Because there’s nobody else to.”

“When do you sleep?!” Robin exclaimed, looking incredulous. Bowie chuckled, deciding to avoid the question as she subtly slid her Red Bull out of his sight. 

“You do ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”.

Robin scoffed. “Tt. I care not  _ how _ you feel. I only desire to know  _ why _ you are here.” He responded, turning his nose up at her. Bowie rolled her eyes and held his bags out to him.

“Here, you tiny asshole.” Robin accepted the bags and brandished a credit card, paying as quickly as possible. He then moved all his bags over to one arm, straightened up, and looked her straight in the eye.

“I shall not be returning. This was a despicable experience and I loathed every minute of it.” He turned on his heel and marched right out of the store, firing his grapple and swinging away into the distance. Bowie rolled her eyes and returned to her homework, a small smile on her face.

It wasn’t until later that she noticed the five hundred-dollar bills he had left on her counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the wild ride that will be this story! This has been in the works for a while now and I’m really excited to share it with y’all. I have the next chapter ready to go, and it’ll most likely be up in a few days. Comments, kudos, feedback, and constructive criticism are much appreciated!


	2. Two Bat

The second bat Bowie met came in for a completely unexpected reason.

Two weeks had passed since her first encounter and she hadn’t seen another bat since. Last week, her coworker Rachel had mentioned the bell at the door ringing twice without anyone coming in and said that it was probably someone who had changed their mind or walked into the wrong store. Bowie knew better. She suspected she’d be seeing Robin again soon.

On Thursday morning at 3 am, the bell rang and the motherfucking  _ Red Hood _ walked into the Marks, splattered in a suspicious-looking dark substance and decked out with approximately 50 weapons. And of course, the first thing Bowie’s brain decided to do to cope with the shock was make a smartass comment.

“Pretty sure all those guns are against company policy, buddy!”

The Red Hood turned to face her and she shrunk a bit under his gaze, despite the fact that she couldn’t actually see his face. He appraised her for a moment before he chuckled and shook his head.

“Would you like me to leave them outside?” He returned sarcastically, his voice sounding strangely robotic from under the helmet. Bowie considered it for a moment and shook her head.

“Nah. As long as you’re not shooting at me, we’ll be okay.” Red Hood mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘I love Gotham’ and swaggered over, leaning on the counter in front of her. The emotionless white eyes of the helmet burned holes in her head, and she leaned back a bit just to put some distance between herself and the blood-splattered man. Her eyebrow quirked as she waited to hear whatever the Red Hood had come into the crafts store to ask about.

“I’m looking for yarn and knitting needles.”

...well. That was unexpected.

“Uh… okay. What are you looking to knit?” She inquired, tilting her head to the side in confusion. Unlike his smaller counterpart, Red Hood seemed completely shameless making his unusual request. Whereas Robin had been nothing but uncomfortable, this guy seemed absolutely confident in the life decisions that had led him here. It was definitely a change of pace.

“Anything. Everything. I don’t really care. My therapist says I should pick it back up.” So Red Hood had a therapist and was  _ still _ out murdering people every night. Well, maybe not anymore. There were theories that he had stopped killing to get back in the Batman’s good graces, but they were still widely unconfirmed, and Bowie wasn’t looking to take any chances.

“Okay. Well, we have all our knitting stuff in the back. If you’re looking to wind down, crocheting is also good for that, and when you don’t have needles or a hook with you, finger knitting is also a good option.” She walked around the register and headed towards the back of the store, beckoning for him to follow, which he did without question. 

His body language was interesting to her. He gave off an air of being completely carefree, like a frat boy who just accidentally stumbled into running Gotham’s crime underbelly, but the tension in his muscles spoke otherwise. He was perpetually on alert, his eyes under that helmet most likely scanning his environment for potential threats. Hell, by now he probably had at least five emergency exits mapped out just in case he needed a quick escape from Marks. It was the same sort of quiet vigilance that she had seen in Robin.

Most likely drilled into him by the Batman. 

God, how many children had he turned into soldiers?

Bowie made sure to grab a cart on the way back this time so she wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes she made with Robin. When they reached the back, Red Hood immediately made a beeline for the purple yarn and started fucking chucking skein after skein into the cart. Bowie laughed incredulously but didn’t object, walking over to the needles and picking out a few different sizes for him to try.

“You said up at the counter that you were picking knitting back up. Do you already know how to knit?” She called over to him. A shiny red crochet hook caught her eye and she took it off the hook to add to her collection.

“Oh, yeah. Got taught a while back. It’s a long story.” His voice floated over from the other aisle. The human quality was clear enough that she could tell he’d taken the helmet off. A guilty sort of curiosity invaded her mind and she walked over to his aisle, only to see that he still had a mask on. Damn. She was a little disappointed about the mask, but she could appreciate a white streak paired with that jawline just as well as anyone else. She made her way to the cart that was overflowing with all types of yarn and added the hooks & needles to the mix. He turned around, whistled appreciatively at the red crochet hook, and then looked up to scrutinize her name tag.

“Your name is actually Bowie?”

Bowie sighed and leaned back against the cart. “Yeah. My parents were big Bowie fans growing up, I know it’s dumb.”

“No, no, I actually think that’s a fucking kickass name. You a big Bowie fan?” Red Hood asked as he dumped a whole display of yarn into the cart. 

Bowie shook her head, grinning. “Nah. Actually more of a Queen fan myself.”

Red Hood snorted and upon seeing that he couldn’t fit a single additional skein of yarn into his cart, began wheeling it to the front. Bowie walked up alongside him, holding a few more crochet hooks. 

“You seem remarkably calm, considering the fact that I’m covered in somebody’s blood and I just cleared out your entire yarn section.” God, that was such a fucking weird sentence. Only in fucking Gotham.

“Well, the way I see it, you keep a lot of predators away from Gotham U grounds, which makes me a lot safer. The least I could do is help you buy some yarn,” Bowie shrugged, “and your buddy Robin popped in two weeks ago. So it’s not like there isn’t a precedent.”

Red Hood’s eyebrows shot up. “Babybird stopped by? What for?”

“Paints, actually. He seemed pretty embarrassed about it. Told me he was never coming back, but I’m pretty sure he tried to come back last week and turned back around for some reason. My coworker had the night shift,” Bowie explained, making her way to the register and pulling out the biggest bags she had for all the yarn.

“What nights do you work? I’ll let him know,” Red Hood offered as he started to move yarn out of the cart. Bowie looked up at that, her scanning momentarily pausing.

“What do you mean? I doubt he came back in looking specifically for me.”

“Trust me. Robin is not good at warming up to people, so if he even tried coming back in again, it was probably because he likes you and he wanted you to help him.” Red Hood remarked. Bowie stared down at the counter for a moment, strangely touched. It didn’t last long, though, because Red Hood quickly snapped his fingers in front of her face.

“Hey. It’s 3:30 and I have a drug bust at 4. Can we get a move on please?” Bowie nodded and offered a quick apology before finishing up all the yarn and passing over the big bags. Red Hood pulled out a credit card that was so soaked in blood, he had to wipe it off on his pants before inserting the chip. She pointed down at the card and looked back up at him in a silent question. He merely shook his head.

“Don’t ask.”

...okay. Some things were better left unsaid. 

They finished up the purchase and Bowie handed him his receipt. “Tell Robin I work Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday mornings.” Red Hood nodded, gave her a mock salute, and sauntered to the door before stopping and looking back at her. 

“Thanks for your help, man. I’ll be back.”

She nodded at him and grinned. “Use your own credit card next time?”

The Red Hood merely laughed, put his helmet back on, and made his exit. Bowie sat back down on her stool, took one look at the register, and  _ groaned _ .

Fucking hell. The bastard had gotten blood all over her counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it’s me again, here to provide you with quality Knitting Granny Jason Todd content. Enjoy!!
> 
> Comments & kudos make my whole day :)


	3. Red Bat

A week had passed since Red Hood’s visit, and there was  _ still _ a tiny spot of dried blood that Bowie couldn’t scrub off the counter. It taunted her. It sat right next to the chip reader and  _ laughed _ at her. At 1:30 on a Thursday morning, Bowie was death glaring at the evil blood spot when the bell rang to signal someone entering the store, and this time, Bowie didn’t even have to get up to greet her new customer. Red Robin came marching over to the register, flat out ignoring the signs telling him where to enter the queue, and slammed his gloved hands down on the counter.

“I need coffee.”

Bowie raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down. The novelty of seeing the bats enter the Marks was beginning to wear off a bit. Neither Robin nor Red Hood had come to visit again yet, but she believed they would soon. Red Robin, however, unlike the other two, was apparently completely unaware what a crafts store actually sold.

“...you might be out of luck, dude. We’re a crafts store, not a Starbucks. No coffee here.” Red Robin groaned and dropped his head onto the counter, mumbling something about it just being his luck and fuck the world. Bowie almost felt bad for the guy. She certainly related. Red Robin looked to be around her age, and he was probably suffering from both college  _ and _ his vigilante lifestyle. What a way to live.

Red Robin eventually straightened back up in a motion that looked like it took  _ way _ more effort than it should have and sighed, brushing his hair behind his ear. 

“Caffeine, then. Do you have  _ any _ caffeine.” Bowie perked up at that, pointing over to the fridge at the end of the counter.

“Yeah, man, we have sodas and Red Bull-“ At the mere mention of Red Bull, Red Robin’s eyes widened (well, Bowie assumed they did, she couldn’t actually see his eyes) and he broke out into a  _ sprint _ towards the fridge. He threw it open and slowly picked up a can of Red Bull, eyeing it almost reverently. Bowie couldn’t hold back a laugh at that.

“What, are you gonna marry an energy drink or something?” She asked, snapping Red Robin out of his trance. He glanced at her and then quickly grabbed an armful more cans before stumbling over and depositing them on the counter.

“I’ve been cut off. I haven’t had access to any for  _ weeks _ .” He explained, a few strands of hair falling in front of his face. That seemed to be an ongoing issue for him, apparently. Bowie glanced down at her wrist, which had a black hair tie around it. She pulled it off and held it out to Red Robin, who was currently zoned out and staring at the Red Bull.

“Dude. Do you want a hair tie or not?” His head snapped up and his eyes took a moment to properly focus on the object in front of him. When they finally did, he shook his head, which only seemed to make the hair issue worse. 

“No, ‘m good. It’s all good.” Red Robin mumbled, waving away the hair tie. Bowie didn’t put her arm down. 

“You sure? Because the hair falling in front of your face can’t be very convenient for when you’re trying to, you know, fight crime.” He considered the hair tie again for a long moment. Bowie could almost smell the smoke coming from his brain as he tried to think it through. Eventually he sighed and nodded, holding his hand out. Bowie grinned and dropped it into his palm. 

The world-renowned super-genius crime-fighting vigilante just stood there, staring at the hair tie in his hand. Eventually, he looked back up at Bowie with the patented college kid ‘dead-inside’ expression. 

“I have no idea what to do with this,” he muttered and Bowie had to force herself to stifle her laugh. She took the hair tie back and gestured for him to turn around, which he did without question. Since they were about the same height, it wasn’t much of a problem for her to reach his hair. Before she began, she made sure to offer him the common courtesy of giving him a can of Red Bull so he wouldn’t fall asleep mid-hair session. He accepted gratefully and immediately opened it.

“You know, this kid in a bunch of my college classes has this same issue. Tim fucking Drake.” Bowie began carding her fingers through his hair and Red Robin stiffened & immediately began chugging his Red Bull. Strange reaction, but he probably just wasn’t used to people touching him; at least, not when he was dressed like this.

“God, that kid annoys the  _ shit  _ out of me. Never cuts his hair, doesn’t even have to pay for college,  _ and excels anyway _ .” She pulled his hair backwards and began twisting the upper half into a bun. He was still working on the Red Bull, his cheeks suspiciously flushed. Weird. 

“I think we should all just eat the rich. That would solve all our problems.” Bowie finished her mini-rant and then remembered who she was talking to. This was a vigilante who was most likely either rich or funded by an extremely rich person. She may have been overstepping a tiny bit.

“Fuck. Sorry, man, I don’t mean to offend you. Your gear probably comes from somewhere.”

Surprisingly, Red Robin shook his head. “No, no, I actually agree with the ideology. Society has mostly progressed past the need for rich people, and the gap between the trillionaires and everybody else is widening every day. Eating the rich is really the only solution.” Bowie tied the hair tie around the mini-bun and stepped back to admire both her work and his answer.

“Wow, a can of Red Bull really does liven you up, doesn’t it?” He shrugged and raised the empty can in agreement. 

“Hey, I’m in college too. Fucking sucks.” He admitted and slid the can over to her so he could actually pay for it. Right, fuck. They were in the middle of a purchase. She began scanning all the cans as Red Robin reached back to feel out the half-up hairstyle she had done for him. 

“Do you want these in a bag?” She asked and he shook his head. 

“Nah. I’m probably gonna chill on top of the building and chug all of them before B finds out and kills me.” Bowie chuckled and slid the cans back over to him as he put his card in the reader.

“So Batman cut you off, and now I’m complicit in you breaking the rules set by the fucking  _ Batman _ ?” She asked incredulously. He thought about it for a moment before shrugging and giving her a nod. 

“More or less.”

“You know what? Fuck that. College kids need Red Bull. I’ll be your dealer.”

“My… dealer?”

“Your dealer.” She confirmed with a grin and held out her hand so they could shake on it. He eyed her hand for a moment, considering her plan, and then reached out to shake on it.

“You’ve got yourself a client.” Bowie’s smile widened and she offered him the receipt, but he shook his head and waved it away.

“No thanks. Don’t want to bring home any evidence.” He explained. Fair enough. She threw out the receipt and he gathered his treasure into his arms before turning and heading to the door. Bowie watched him go and suddenly got a brilliant idea, calling after him.

“You know, we have scissors here! I could just chop off all the hair for you!”

Red Robin snorted out a laugh and called over his shoulder, “Fuck you, I’m emotionally attached to it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a slut for long haired Tim Drake
> 
> (Also, yes, if you’re wondering, I do actually work at a craft store!! So all the information you’re getting is true, and most of the upcoming chapters will be based off of my real life experiences.)
> 
> Comments and kudos make me happy!!


	4. Blue Bat

Not even three days had gone by since Red Robin’s visit when yet _another_ Gotham-typical disaster rolled in. Bowie was working at her register, headphones plugged in and turned up to full volume as all hell broke loose outside. Nothing mattered except for the calculus homework that had to be turned in at her 8 am class. She was blocking the disaster out. She was ignoring it.

This kind of shit happened more often than most people outside Gotham would believe. The city’s insane asylum somehow managed to have the worst security in the world while also housing the most dangerous criminals in the world, which was never a good combination. Add a family of vigilantes whose very existence _begged_ people to challenge them, and you had Gotham.

Despite all of it, Bowie stayed. For some godforsaken reason, when college time came around, while a few of her friends were jumping at the bit to skip town, she couldn’t bear to leave. There was something about this city that kept people here. The locals were allowed to complain to each other, but if outsiders ever tried to insult the city, well. Hell hath no fury like a Gothamite scorned. 

Something else exploded outside and Bowie attempted to turn her volume up even further, to no avail. A fireball soared by and lit up the derivative equations on her paper orange. She didn’t even flinch. It happened often enough that the glass windows were somewhat warped from the heat exposure. A screaming woman ran by right outside the storefront and Bowie slammed her head down onto her binder, doing her best to listen to the mantra running on a loop inside her head.

She was blocking it out. It didn’t matter. She was _ignoring_ it.

And she was doing such a good job of it, too, until the door slammed open and the store flooded with the sounds of car alarms and screams.

Bowie groaned and pulled off her headphones just in time to hear someone screaming from the doorway.

“NO, HOOD, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, IF WE DON’T FIND SOMETHING TO HOLD IT TOGETHER, THE ENTIRE FUCKING CITY IS GOING TO EXPLODE-”

Bowie hated this fucking town. 

She slammed her binder shut and raised her voice, pissed beyond belief now. “HEY. I’D APPRECIATE IT IF NONE OF THE BULLSHIT OUT THERE CAME IN HERE BECAUSE I’M RESPONSIBLE IF IT DOES! THANK YOU!”

The shadowy figure in the doorway froze for a moment, clearly debating whether to leave or not. Apparently he decided to stay, because he stepped out of the shadows and oh fuck, she had just scolded Nightwing.

“...uh,” she squeaked eloquently. Nightwing was breathing heavily, his hair disheveled and blood dripping from a cut above his eyebrow. He looked wounded at her verbal explosion.

This guy was clearly just trying to do his best to hold everything together, both literally and figuratively. Now she felt guilty.

“...look, man, I’m sorry, that wasn’t-“

“I need duct tape.” He cut her off breathlessly as he stumbled over to the counter. Bowie watched him lean on it for support and she was trying not to look, she really was, but holy shit, that suit hid _nothing._

Duct tape. Right. This dude wanted duct tape for something that could possibly explode the city if not held together.

She was really starting to question her faith in these vigilantes.

“Yeah. I’ll go get it for you. You stay here and take a breather.” Nightwing put up no argument and Bowie sprinted to aisle 97, scanning her duct tape selection. She picked up a standard silver roll of tape and made to run back up to the front before another roll caught her eye. Backtracking, she stared down at it and an evil grin slowly spread across her face.

Oh, yes. This was the one.

Not twenty seconds later, Bowie was up at the front of the store, holding the roll of tape behind her back. Nightwing had straightened up by then and seemed to be trying to make himself look more dignified, running his fingers through his hair. It wasn’t working, but she wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that. Tonight was clearly already not going well for him.

Bowie held out the tape to him. The tape that was black and covered in little silver bat-symbols.

Nightwing stared down at the tape. For a second, she thought she had broken him. Not a muscle in his body was moving, his eyes trained on the tape.

Then he let out the saddest-sounding, most exasperated sigh Bowie had ever heard. That was the telltale sigh of a long-suffering older sibling. She thought he was going to smack the tape out of her hand, and it really looked like he was considering it, but eventually something else exploded outside. The explosion was followed by gunfire and a loud, triumphant, helmet-filtered shout of “TAKE THAT, YOU FUCKERS!” that sounded suspiciously familiar. That motivated Nightwing to take the tape, which he did after giving a weary glare out the window.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, moving to pull a credit card out. Bowie had no idea _where_ he would be hiding such a thing, as that suit literally left _zero_ hiding places, but she quickly decided she didn’t want to know. Regardless, she waved him away.

“No. You take it. It’s on me.” Nightwing opened his mouth in protest but Bowie quickly cut him off. “Just try not to let them blow up my dorm?” She asked and he nodded, spinning the roll of tape around on his finger.

“Got it. I’ll keep them away from campus.” She gave him a single nod and turned back to the register, satisfied with his answer. He turned and sprinted out the door, but she whipped back around and called after him, grinning like a maniac.

“You sure you’re good with one roll? You don’t want two?”

Outside the window of the store, Nightwing flipped her the bird as he swung back into action, and Bowie allowed herself to laugh for exactly five seconds before she spun back around on her stool and opened her binder back up. She put her headphones back on and drowned out the noise of whatever the hell was going on outside with the sound of Harry Styles.

Unfortunately, no matter how much Bowie wanted them to, the derivatives of the functions weren’t going to find themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a shorter chapter, but I think it fits considering the circumstances of the meeting. Now that all the first meetings are out of the way (for now), I’m going to start expanding on the relationships.
> 
> I have a lot of ideas, but I AM ALSO ACCEPTING REQUESTS/SUGGESTIONS!! If anybody has any scenarios they’d really like to see, please comment it and I’ll try my best to make it happen!
> 
> Thank you all for reading thus far! Stick around for bigger and better chapters!
> 
> Comments and kudos are, as always, much appreciated :)


	5. Chapter 5

For the first time since she’d started this job, Bowie was _late._

It was currently 11:15 pm, her shift had been scheduled to start at 11 like always, and she was sprinting down the streets of Gotham, clutching her books to her chest and _praying_ that no weirdos were out tonight. Unfortunately, hopping over rubble and stray pieces of sidewalk from the attack the night Nightwing had visited was slowing her down a bit. Despite the obstacles, she was still making good time and had cut the ten-minute walk from her dorm to the Marks down to a five-minute run.

At least, she had been making good time until she tripped over an uneven sidewalk square.

With a screech of “FUCK,” Bowie went down in slow motion. Her hands hit first and took the brunt of the impact a split second before the rest of her hit the ground. For a long, awful moment, she just laid there, wallowing in her own misery.

Then she remembered that this was Gotham, and the stinging in her hands wasn’t going to stop people from jumping her.

And, also, she was _late for work._

So she pushed herself up, gathered her books up from the ground, and ran like a bat out of hell. (No, not _those_ bats.)

Finally, _finally,_ she burst through the automatic doors and skidded to a stop.

Speaking of bats…

Her poor coworker Rachel had her back to the Halloween display and a sword at her neck being brandished by none other than Robin. A pile of shattered ceramic shards that used to be pumpkins had fallen off the shelves, and Bowie internally groaned at the inventory nightmare that would become for her, but there were more pressing matters at the moment. Neither of them appeared to have noticed her arrival yet.

“Procure Bowie _this instant_ or I will slit every single one of your arteries,” Robin snarled viciously. The tip of that sword was millimeters away from Rachel’s throat, and yet Rachel stared back without an ounce of fear in her eyes and that deadpan, coffee-fueled look only Gen Z kids can achieve.

“Do it. No balls.”

An _ungodly_ screech left Bowie’s mouth and she dissolved into laughter, doubling over. Robin thankfully dropped the sword instead of driving it through Rachel’s neck and whipped around. Rachel quickly ran away, most likely heading to the back to clock out and get the fuck out through the back door. Robin didn’t even notice, just staring at Bowie.

“...I don’t understand, why would she _ask_ me to kill her? I… I do have… I have biologically male anatomy, of course I have - _would you stop laughing?!”_ Bowie straightened back up and did her best to breathe, still giggling. 

“Robin, maybe you could get - oh, holy _shit_ \- maybe you could get Red Robin to explain it to you. He gets it.” Bowie managed to get out and Robin scrunched up his nose in disdain. 

_“Red Robin?_ How _dare_ you even suggest I go talk to him. He is insufferable. An embarrassment to the sacred name of Batman. A mistake that should-“

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, you hate the guy. It’s good to see you again, anyway.” She dropped her books down on the counter and went to brace herself on it but a jolt of pain ran up her arms. She quickly drew away with a hiss of pain and looked down at her palms, which she had completely forgotten about and which were now covered in blood. 

_“Shit.”_ She mumbled furiously, looking back at her books just to confirm and _yep,_ the covers were now stained with bright red handprints. Holy fuck, how could this night get worse?

“You’re hurt.” Robin noted. It wasn’t phrased as a question. Bowie glanced back up at him and nodded miserably. God, she hated her life. 

“Yeah, don’t take a look at the CCTV footage from a few blocks back. It wasn’t pretty.” Robin marched over and held out his hand expectantly. Bowie didn’t move, staring at the green glove like it was an alien. Well, no, Superman was an alien, and he was a pretty nice dude. She shouldn’t judge.

“...dude, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Give me your hand.”

“I don’t think-“

“Chandler, I have been trained in the highest forms of what plebeians such as yourself call ‘first aid’. I am positive I am able to handle a few scrapes. _Give me your hand.”_

Bowie gave him her hand. Robin opened up his belt and pulled out a small pair of tweezers. He began to pull out the little pieces of gravel that were lodged in her palm. A small hiss of pain escaped her and Robin looked up sharply, narrowing his eyes.

“It’s merely a piece of gravel. You’ll live. Don’t complain.”

...right. Child soldier. Refrain from showing any weaknesses.

So she did, staying silent until Robin seemed satisfied. He pulled out a roll of bandages (that was definitely too big to fit in the belt he had on) and quickly taped it up before repeating the process with her other hand.

“...you called me Chandler.” Bowie realized halfway through the bandaging, and Robin nodded without looking up.

“You have ears. That’s certainly relieving to hear.”

“Robin, I never told you my last name.”

He lifted his head and a devious, smug grin spread across his face. 

“I have my ways.”

He was _proud_ of himself. Bowie rolled her eyes and pulled her hand back once he had finished up. 

“Yeah, yeah, you little creep. Are you here for more paints?” Robin gave her a hesitant nod. 

“Yes. I have exhausted my supply and thus require more. I also require your assistance.” He turned on his heel and began the long march to the paint aisle. Bowie hopped over the counter and followed behind him, a small smirk on her face. 

“You require my assistance? Is that why you wouldn’t let Rachel help you?” She called out. Robin stopped in his tracks and turned around to glare at her. 

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve grown _fond_ of me.”

A telltale blush of embarrassment had just begun to color his cheeks when he abruptly turned away and continued his mission to obtain more paint.

“Do you know what you want to paint?” She called after him and he nodded an affirmative, clearly not trusting himself to talk. Jesus Christ, this murder gremlin was _adorable_ and she was going to get him to open up, no matter the cost.

“Okay, well, what is it?” They reached the paint aisle and Robin stopped in front of the acrylics.

“I would like to capture a… friend of mine.” Bowie expected him to go for the flesh tones, but instead he reached for black, white, and a smaller bottle of pink. 

“...Robin. Are you painting your cat?” Robin’s eyes widened behind the mask and he quickly looked away.

“No! Of course not!” He exclaimed childishly and God, that was the most human she’d heard him sound since she met him. 

“Dude, it’s okay if you are. I’ve painted enough cats in my lifetime, I could probably help you if you wanted. What’s their name?”

“Classified.” Robin muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his nose up into the air. Bowie chuckled and grabbed a bottle of gray paint off of the display.

“Okay. But if it’s black and white, mixing the two to get the perfect shade of gray can waste a lot of paint, so you’re probably going to want an option between the two. Get the gray.” Robin relented after a moment and took the bottle of paint from her before wordlessly beginning the trek to the front of the store. Yet again, Bowie found herself following him, instead of the other way around. 

“Yo Robin! Can I see a picture?”

“No.”

“Come on, just one picture of the cat?”

_“No.”_

And yet again, after he had left, she found five hundred dollars mysteriously lying on top of her bloodstained textbooks. This time, a note was left with the bills.

_“Buy new textbooks, Chandler. You’ve ruined those ones beyond repair with your idiocy.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know why but I just really enjoy writing Damian???? Like he’s such an asshole but he’s also babey and it’s an interesting combination. Idk. I love it.
> 
> Comments make me smile. You could literally comment anything and my whole week would be made. Go crazy, go stupid, kiddos.
> 
> (Come back next time for Jason unsupervised in a craft store)


	6. Chapter 6

Bowie _hated_ English classes.

Sure, in principle, they were great, but when the professor asked her to analyze a passage and find some godforsaken hidden meaning? No. Nope. That was it. She was checking out. If the author said the curtains were blue, it wasn’t because the main character was feeling depressed, MAYBE THE CURTAINS WERE JUST FUCKING BLUE. 

_God._ It was too early in the morning to be dealing with this.

Yet here she was, poring over her binder at 2:30 in the morning and rereading the same sentence over and over again. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get the words to register in her head. 

What _did_ register, however, was the door slamming open and the helmet-modified shout that echoed through the store. 

“YO BOWIE!”

Bowie _slammed_ her binder shut and shot out from behind the register, grinning like a madman. Finally, something exciting. 

“Thank fucking _God._ I have been trying to find some invisible hidden meaning in this one passage for an hour and a half at this point. What’s going on?” She asked gleefully and the Red Hood shrugged, taking off his helmet and putting it on the front counter. 

“Not much. Got a minor bust at 4 but it shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ve got an assist tonight.”

“Oh really? Am I allowed to know which child soldier you roped into this one?” Red Hood snorted and patted her on the head (which was insulting, she was fairly tall, he was just _huge)_ before sauntering into the store. Bowie followed because she literally had _nothing_ better to do. 

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he warned. Bowie raised an eyebrow emotionlessly.

“Please just get it over with already.”

“Uhh… nope. Been dead, done that. Wouldn’t recommend it.” He remarked casually as they arrived in aisle 60. Bowie was about to open her mouth to ask why that was something he would mention so nonchalantly but before she could, the bell up at the front rang, and the Red Hood waved his hand to shoo her away. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be preventing theft or some shit like that? Get out of here,” he said. Bowie rolled her eyes but acquiesced to his request, heading to the front of the store to find yet another bat waiting for her.

Red Robin was standing in the front entryway, wringing his hands together and looking completely awkward. As soon as Bowie came into view, he relaxed a tiny bit and offered her a small smile.

“Hi. Hood told me to meet him here at 2:30? I’m a couple minutes late-“ As soon as the words had left his mouth, a yell echoed off of the empty store walls.

“YOU’RE LATE, REPLACEMENT!” Red Robin just sighed a long-suffering sigh and gestured vaguely in the direction of Red Hood’s voice. 

“Yeah. That.” 

“...well, obviously, he’s already here. He’s back there looking for something, I’m not sure what. He also said the bust was at 4?” Red Robin’s eyebrows shot up just as Red Hood came into view at the front of the store, holding three massive containers with undisclosed contents.

“What does she mean, the bust is at 4? Why am I here so early?!”

“Easy, replacement, it’s no big deal. I figured we could chill here for a bit.”

And now the Marks was a vigilante hangout. This was fine. Everything was fine. 

“...okay. Um. I’m doing my very best to take this all in stride. As long as you’re here, Red Robin, go find the scissors so you can give yourself a haircut, and Red Hood, I’ll take you up on the register?” Red Robin flipped her off but turned on his heel and went to look around the store anyway. Hood nodded, walked over to the counter, and slammed his three containers down on the counter. Bowie had to get closer to get a good look at what they had inside, and oh holy shit, she couldn’t decide whether she loved or hated this job.

Glitter. The containers were filled with bright pink glitter.

Bowie slowly looked up at him, not even attempting to hold back the look of pure exasperation and disappointment.

_“Dude.”_

The Red Hood, the vigilante who was buying three warehouse-sized containers of pink glitter, shrugged yet again with a devilish smirk on his face. 

“What? It’s not for me.”

“It’s not - it’s not for - _who the hell could it possibly be for?!”_

“It’s for Robin.” Red Robin suddenly spoke up, apparently having appeared behind her out of nowhere. Bowie jumped about ten feet in the air and instinctively smacked him on the head with her pen.

“BITCH WHAT THE FUCK-“

“Sorry! Sorry. Just - it’s for Robin. We’re ruining his room.” Red Robin explained as he placed his one singular can of Red Bull on the counter next to Red Hood’s glitter stash. A moment passed and he reached up to rub his head as if the pain was an afterthought, giving Bowie a wounded look.

“Ow.”

“...sorry. Sneaking up is a bad idea. Anyway, why are you ruining Robin’s room with glitter?”

“Because he’s a demon brat.” Red Hood responded completely nonchalantly. Red Robin hopped over the counter to stand next to his partner (brother? Whatever) and added on:

“And also because he let it slip to B that I was getting Red Bull from somewhere. So now I’m on even tighter lockdown, and you’re my only source.”

Bowie nodded seriously and immediately began scanning the items they were buying, including the Red Bull, because she knew how essential that was to college life. Red Robin hummed in gratitude and picked up the Red Bull as soon as she had scanned it, popping it open and starting to chug. 

Red Hood gave him approximately three seconds before he smacked the can. Red Robin _choked_ and slammed the can down on the counter before launching into a coughing fit, which was underscored by Red Hood’s laughter. 

Who thought it was a good idea to put these two together on a mission? Bowie was going to write a strongly worded letter to Batman.

Jesus Christ, what the fuck was her life.

“Hood. Be nice to him.” She chided as she slid the bag full of glitter over to him. Red Hood merely pulled out a credit card and put it in the chip reader, shoulders still shaking with chuckles. Bowie reached across the counter and patted Red Robin’s back a few times, trying to ease his suffering. It eventually worked and he took a deep breath, straightening up to try to regain some of his dignity.

It would have worked, except for one thing. 

“You know, your hair is still too fucking long. Here.” She pulled the hair tie off of her wrist and offered it to Red Robin yet again. And yet again, he shook his head. Bowie groaned and didn’t retract her hand.

“Take the fucking hair tie and do your fucking hair. It’s what I did last time, it shouldn’t be too hard. You’re supposed to be the genius of the bunch, right?” She asked and Red Robin sighed, finally relenting and taking the hair tie. Red Hood watched the exchange with an awed expression on his face. 

“Dude. How did you do that? We’ve been trying to get him to put his hair up for _years.”_ Bowie shrugged, watching Red Robin put his hair up with a slight sense of pride. He had clearly memorized how to do it, which meant that he had actually cared about what she had said. It was kind of nice, to know that she had been listened to. 

“I’m magic,” she replied with a grin and Red Robin rolled his eyes in response. 

“Yeah, sure. Thanks for the hair tie.”

“No problem, man. Go kick some ass.” Red Robin offered her another smile, this time a bit more genuine. He had a nice smile. She was determined to get more out of him. Red Hood slung his arm around Red Robin’s shoulder and shoved him toward the door, calling after him: 

“Go find a decent stakeout spot down at the docks, I’ll be there in a minute!” Red Robin hesitated but nodded and gave a small wave to Bowie before he was out the door, disappearing into the night. 

Red Hood turned back to Bowie, a truly evil, shit-eating grin on his face. 

“The glitter ain’t for Robin.”

He gave her the same mock salute he had given her after their first meeting. 

“See you around, Chandler. Hey, if you need help with that English shit, I can come find you in your dorm after the bust.” Bowie returned the salute, her grin turning into a genuine smile. He was halfway out the door before Bowie actually registered what he had said.

“What - wait, hey, I never told you my last name - HOW DO YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE?!”

(And when Red Robin came in the next night looking for Red Bull with an utterly dejected look on his face and pink glitter in his hair, well, that was none of Bowie’s business.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn’t even originally supposed to have Tim in it, but I have zero control over my own story, I guess. Whatever happens just happens. The word “red” was repeated SO MANY TIMES.
> 
> (Comments & kudos are always appreciated :) )


	7. Chapter 7

What Bowie failed to realize when she applied for this job was just how many things the Marks actually sold. 

Sure, you had your standard craft store supplies, with aisles and aisles dedicated to paints and sharpies. However, there were also the weirder sections, such as the aisles dedicated to glass jars, wicker baskets, florals, and t-shirts.

And that’s how Bowie found herself re-folding t-shirts at 2 in the morning. As if the laundry she had to do for her own clothes wasn’t enough, now she had to fold an entire aisle of t-shirts at ungodly hours of the morning.

If it weren’t for the employee discount, she would  _ so _ have quit by now.

She was engaged in battle with a gray 2XL shirt when the door opened, the bell jingling gracefully. So she could rule Red Hood out, then. In terms of slamming the door open, he was a repeat offender. Bowie couldn’t hear any footsteps, either, which ruled Robin out, because he just stomped around everywhere. 

“I need your help.”

Bowie let out an inhuman screech and jumped ten feet in the air at the sound of the voice behind her. She whipped around to see Nightwing perched on top of the t-shirt aisle, crouching down and somehow keeping his balance.

“Jesus hecking Christ, what is your family’s  _ obsession _ with doing that?! You take five years off of my life every time!” Bowie exclaimed, her hand on her chest. Nightwing shrugged and offered a sheepish smile.

“Sorry. I need your-“

“How did you even get  _ up _ there?!”

“Bowie-“

“Do you just make it a habit to spend all your time in the rafters, or what? Because that’s fucking  _ weird.” _

“Can you-“

“I swear, every bat who comes into this store makes it a  _ point _ to torture me-“

“HEY. I need your help.” Nightwing finally raised his voice and Bowie dutifully shut up, staring up at him. He sighed and dropped down to the floor without making a single sound. 

“...are you human? You don’t make any noise. Is that a vampire thing? It honestly sounds like it could be. I wouldn’t be surprised. Are you a vampire?”

“What -  _ no,  _ I’m not a vampire! Do I look like Robert Pattinson to you?” He asked incredulously. Bowie decided to not dignify that question with a response and Nightwing sighed yet again before continuing.

“Wait, no, don’t answer that. I came here because my anniversary with my girlfriend is tomorrow - well, today - and I don’t have a present.” He admitted and Bowie’s eyebrows shot up. She had honestly pegged him to be the romantic type, so not having a present seemed a bit out of character. Maybe the hero life just took up too much time and he didn’t have room in his schedule to go shopping.

“My immediate response would be to go for a gift card.” Bowie suggested. Nightwing let out an impressive sigh as he reached up to pinch his brow.

“I am  _ not _ getting her a gift card. We’ve been together too long and she would fucking eviscerate me off the face of this planet. I don’t think that’s how that word is used but you know what, I don’t really care, I just need help. Real, actual help. Please.”

“...okay. How long have you been together?”

“We’ve known each other forever, but officially, five years.” Nightwing responded and Bowie grimaced.

“That’s a big anniversary to not have a present for, buddy.”

_ “I know!”  _ He all but wailed, burying his face in his hands. Damn, she had to feel for the guy. His girlfriend was  _ definitely _ going to kill him.

“Okay, well, this definitely isn’t the most high end place-“

“I know. That’s why I’m here, actually. Robin recommended you,” he commented and Bowie couldn’t hide her smile at that.

“He did? Aw. Yeah, he’s my buddy. He keeps leaving me money. I don’t know why.”

“It’s because he likes you! He doesn’t like a lot of people, he’s got issues opening up, so this is  _ great  _ and - wait, no, I’m totally getting off topic again. Anyway. Please help me.” Nightwing forced himself to get back on track and Bowie clapped her hands together, grinning. 

“Okay! Follow me!” And then they were off, weaving in and out of aisles on a search for a suitable anniversary present. The reality of the situation seemed to creep further up on Nightwing with every present idea he vetoed, and by the time they reached the scrapbook aisle, he was pacing furiously as Bowie browsed the aisle. She glanced back at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Dude, I think I saw you less stressed two weeks ago when the bomb threatening to level Gotham was about to go off.”

“THAT’S BECAUSE I WAS LESS STRESSED,” he burst out, running his hands through his hair agitatedly. Bowie chuckled and turned back to the aisle, selecting a scrapbook and then turning around to present it to him.

“Behold. You could make her a scrapbook. We have an entire sticker aisle, and as long as you have pictures, you should definitely be able to make it look awesome.” She explained as he eyed the scrapbook, clearly trying not to freak out.

“...that could actually work really well, but I feel like it won’t be enough. You don’t know her like I do. She’s going to fucking  _ kill _ me.” Bowie sighed, setting the scrapbook down.

“Nightwing. Look at me.”

He looked up from the tiled floor, looking decidedly dejected.

“She is  _ not  _ going to kill you. Hell, speaking as a girl, the fact that you care this much about what she likes is really touching. It’s been five years, I’m sure you know her well enough now to know what she would like. She’s going to love whatever you get her because you put your heart into it. Okay?” Nightwing nodded and ran a hand through his hair again, exhaling. He took a second to pull himself together and then took the scrapbook from her to inspect it. A moment passed before he looked up again and gave her a decisive nod.

“This is perfect. Where are the stickers?”

Bowie led him to the sticker aisle, where he had a fucking field day picking out all sorts of sets that pertained to all sorts of events. From the looks of his selection, Nightwing and his girlfriend really  _ had _ known each other forever; he was picking out sticker packs for events like middle school graduation, high school graduation, prom, and everything in between. That was kind of adorable, actually.

Bowie wondered if his girlfriend knew about his nightlife. She’d probably be worried for him. Maybe she’d even be slightly afraid of him.

Then again, it looked like Nightwing was the one who was usually a bit afraid of her. Good for her. Putting the fear of god in a vigilante. 

They were making their way to the front with their arms full of stickers when Bowie stopped in her tracks. Nightwing stopped ahead of her and looked back, confused.

“What is it?”

“...does your girlfriend like blankets?”

“Uh… yeah. We have, like, twenty blankets at home. Why?” Bowie picked up a pack of string lights and displayed it to Nightwing, grinning.

“Blanket. Fort.”

Nightwing’s face lit up.

And as he left the store with bags of lights & stickers and a promise to come back soon, Bowie couldn’t help but feel a little proud of herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi gang! So this one is a little shorter and honestly I’m a little worried about the quality?? But we get some quality Dick Grayson time. I’m also still accepting suggestions!!
> 
> *IMPORTANT NOTE BELOW PLEASE READ*
> 
> So this fic was originally started as a bunch of fluffy wholesome one shots, which I love and still plan to continue. HOWEVER. I also have a few angst ideas within this universe. I know a lot of the comments have been saying that you love how wholesome this is and the chaotic energy, which is great and I really appreciate it!! 
> 
> So would you want me to keep all the wholesome chapters in this work and move the angst chapters over to another work in the same series, or keep it all on one work? I know a lot of Batfam fics end up being super angsty and this is kind of an outlier. So please let me know in the comments which you’d prefer!! Thanks for reading :)


	8. Chapter 8

It was another semi-normal night at the Marks. Semi-normal due to the fact that the Red Hood was currently sitting cross-legged on top of the counter and attempting to finger knit. 

The key word was attempting, because bless his heart, he was doing his best, but he couldn’t quite seem to get it right.

“Fuck!” Red Hood all but whined as he tossed what was left of the skein of yarn onto the counter. Bowie glanced up from her laptop with a raised eyebrow and hot _damn_ , he had unraveled the yarn and it was _everywhere_. What a disaster.

“Dude, have you even bought that one yet?”

“I don’t know! I don’t think so! I can’t fucking do it!” He snapped as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to glare out the window. Bowie snorted and got up to walk from Register 3 over to Register 1, where he was sitting.

“You’re doing it wrong. Give it to me.” Hood picked up handfuls of unraveled yarn, crushed the together into a ball, and fucking chucked it at her. Bowie let out a yelp and ducked as the ‘ball’ of yarn flew over her head with unnatural speed and slammed into the window behind her. She straightened up, assessed the damage, and then turned back to glare at him. 

“ _Hood_. We’ve talked about this. No damage to the store,” she reminded him and he flipped her off before crossing his arms again. Bowie rolled her eyes and went to go pick up the yarn. 

“You are _such_ a sore loser.”

“I haven’t _lost_ anything.”

“You were in a battle with the yarn. The yarn won.”

“You know what, _fuck_ _you!”_ Red Hood exclaimed angrily and Bowie couldn’t help but laugh. He may have been one of the biggest crime lords Gotham had ever seen, but he had also just thrown a ball of yarn at her head, and he would never hurt her, anyway. She knew him well enough by now to at least know that.

“Here. Let me show you.” Bowie hoisted herself up onto the counter at Register 2 and started looping the yarn around her fingers, occasionally pausing to untangle the yarn Red Hood had messed up. For the first few minutes, Hood just stubbornly glared out the window, blatantly refusing to look at her. Eventually he relented and looked back to watch what she was doing, his scowl slowly softening on his helmet-less face. 

“...okay. Okay. I want to try again,” he finally spoke up and Bowie grinned as she unhooked the yarn from her fingers.

“Perfect. There’s a whole shipment of yarn in boxes in the classroom. Go knock yourself out,” she replied and Hood slipped off of the counter to go search the classroom. 

Bowie returned to her laptop to pass the time while he searched, but not thirty seconds later, the bell at the door rang. Fucking _customers._ Bowie sighed, closed her laptop, and got up to go greet the customer with her classic retail smile plastered on her face. 

“Hi, welcome to Marks, how can I-“

“Wood glue?” The middle-aged woman interrupted as she twirled her hair around her finger.

Bowie stopped in her tracks. What the fuck was she, a human directory? God, this was why she hated this job. 

“Hi. How are you?” She asked pointedly, somehow managing to keep the retail smile firmly secured on her face. The woman gave Bowie Linda vibes. Yeah. She was gonna call her Linda.

Linda sighed in annoyance before responding in a nasal tone. 

“I’m _fine._ Where’s the wood glue.”

“It should be in Aisle 50, with the rest of our-“

And Linda was already gone, sauntering into the store without so much as another word. Bowie really did hate the human race sometimes.

She waited up at the register until Linda came back up front and slammed a bottle of wood glue down on the counter. 

“I don’t have a lot of time, sweetie, can we make this quick?” She asked, quickly pulling out her phone.

God _damn._

Bowie rang up the wood glue, which was on sale, and told Linda her total. Linda responded by shoving a coupon at her, which Bowie scanned and shit, the coupon wasn’t coming off. She was about to get Karen’d.

“...ma’am, I’m sorry, but your coupon is only applicable for regular price items, and the wood glue is already 30% off.” Bowie explained. Linda’s eyebrows raised and Bowie began to mentally brace herself. 

“What are you talking about? This coupon started on Sunday. It’s active. It should work.”

“Yes, but it only works on regular price items. The wood glue is already on sale. If it wasn’t on sale, it would work, but it is.”

“That’s _ridiculous!”_ Linda exclaimed indignantly as she slammed her manicured hand down on the counter.

Hell hath no fury like a Karen scorned over her coupons.

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do-“

 _“Where_ is your manager?!”

“It’s just me tonight, ma’am,” Bowie’s retail voice was beginning to waver a bit, but she had to stay strong. She was determined to make it through this. Linda scoffed and looked her up and down, looking distinctly unimpressed.

“So they left _you_ alone? What are you, fifteen? You are _completely_ incompetent and I _will_ be coming back during the daytime to find a manager and-“

The unmistakable click of a gun’s safety turning off echoed off of the walls of the store, and both Bowie and Linda whipped around to face the classroom.

A shadowy figure stood leaning against the doorway of the classroom. Only his pistol, pointed up at the ceiling, and a gleam of red were visible from the shadows.

“Be nice to the lady,” the shadow all but growled.

Linda _screamed,_ completely abandoning her all-important wood glue as she hightailed it out of the store. Bowie watched her go before turning back to Red Hood, who had stepped out of the shadows and was now laughing to himself.

Bowie’s glare silenced him quickly enough.

 _“Hood.”_ She scolded, crossing her arms over her chest. Hood shrugged and removed his helmet to toss it back into the classroom, still grinning.

“What? She was _totally_ a Karen. I just saved you so much trouble.”

“...Linda,” Bowie mumbled and Hood tilted his head.

“Say what?”

“Linda. I named her Linda.”

Red Hood let out an ungodly snort of laughter before hopping back up onto the counter with the skein of blue yarn he had picked.

“Okay. Linda. Yeah, suits her well enough. Now show me what you were doing with your fingers-“ Bowie choked on thin air and shoved him off the counter, laughing.

“Shut the fuck up! You make it sound so _dirty!”_ Red Hood playfully threw his hands up in the air and climbed back onto the counter.

“Hey, _your_ mind made that connection, not me!”

“Oh! Dude, I don’t know if I told you yet, but I got a girlfriend!” Red Hood’s face lit up and he reached out to high five her, which Bowie returned with a smile.

“No fucking way! I want to hear EVERYTHING.”

About an hour later, the two of them were still sitting and gossiping on top of the counters when the bell at the door rang again and Nightwing burst in at a sprint.

“Hey, Bowie, are you okay, the police got a call that there was a crazy guy in here with a gun and I wanted to check-“

Nightwing skidded to a stop as he took in the scene in front of him: Bowie and Red Hood, staring at him like deer in headlights, with unraveled yarn all around them and the beginnings of a finger knitting creation attached to Red Hood’s hand.

Red Hood offered him a shameless smile. Nightwing just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Of fucking _course_ it’s you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could tell you that Linda is an exaggeration, but no, Lindas exist, and they unfortunately frequent craft stores.
> 
> Also: I think I’ve solved my angst problem!! I’m just gonna keep the chapters in this work, but I’m gonna put a small note in the opening notes or maybe in the chapter title just so y’all are aware before you dive in.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated as always. :)
> 
> (I can’t read Jason’s voice as anyone other than Jensen Ackles HELP ME)
> 
> (Also you guys I’m developing a KILLER Reverse Robin Tim-centric au and I’m so excited about it)


	9. Chapter 9

Being in college was hard and _unpredictable._ One day you’re failing your math class and considering dropping out, and the next day, your professor is asking you to go cover the annual _Wayne Benefit Gala_ for the school newspaper. (And also for extra credit points, and Bowie was not one to pass up extra credit points.)

Covering the gala, of course, meant that Bowie actually had to _go_ to the gala. Which was a daunting prospect. Being a journalism major, this was kind of what she was training for, but the gala was in three weeks and she had zero prior experience to go off of. 

Bowie’s childhood wasn’t lacking, per se. She had gotten the best possible childhood it was possible to get in Gotham.

Her teenage years… well, those were a slightly different story.

Regardless, she had gotten a decent childhood, but ‘decent’ _definitely_ didn’t equate to attending galas on the daily. Or ever, really.

She was sitting at the counter and staring into nothing as she contemplated her existence when the bell rang. The trademark stomping of Robin’s boots echoed off of the store walls as he came into view and wait a second, he wasn’t alone. Did Robin actually have friends?

Robin stopped in front of the counter and another little boy wearing a suspiciously familiar symbol bounced to a stop next to him, smiling the brightest smile Bowie had ever seen. It was the polar opposite of Robin’s patented scowl, which he wore now as he glared up at her.

“Chandler. I require more supplies. I have run out.” Bowie chuckled and leaned over the counter as she gestured to Robin’s friend.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your buddy?” She asked, and Robin opened his mouth to answer, but his friend interrupted and stuck his hand out for her to shake.

“Hi! I’m Superboy!” He exclaimed. God, even his voice was full of sunshine. His smile was contagious, too. Bowie reached down to shake his hand.

“Hi, Superboy. I’m Bowie, Robin’s favorite emotional support cashier,” she introduced herself and Robin went _red_ , quickly turning away.

“T-that is _not_ true, Superboy, I despise her existence-“

“Oh, that’s bullsh- that’s bull, you love me!” Mustn’t curse around the baby Superman. That’s what he was. Superboy was babey.

“I have had _enough_ of your prattling, Chandler, I am going to find the supplies I require. Superboy, come, we’re going to find what I need and then _leave.”_ Robin snapped and turned on his heel, stomping away louder than before. Superboy glanced back at Bowie with an apologetic look.

“Sorry. He isn’t the best with manners.”

Understatement of the _year,_ kiddo.

Superboy ran to catch up with Robin, and Bowie stayed up at the counter, trying to jot down possible questions in a notebook. _Trying_ being the key word. God, if she couldn’t even think of questions to ask Gotham’s most mysterious family, how was she supposed to be a journalist in the first place?

A pair of fingers snapped in front of her face and Bowie jolted to attention, slamming her notebook shut. Robin sighed in frustration before dumping what looked like an entire aisle of paints on the counter in front of her.

“...damn, Robin, what are you painting, a mural?” She asked. Robin shook his head as Superboy finally joined them up in the front.

“It’s none of your concern, Chandler,” he responded and Bowie shrugged as she began to scan the items for him. She must have been more quiet than usual, because Robin seemed to notice her mood.

“What pathetic issue is troubling you?”

Aw. He really did care.

“Nothing super important. I’m a journalism major, my school gave me this big assignment to cover a huge party in three weeks, and I can’t think of any questions to ask people,” she responded. Robin’s ears seemed to perk up at the mention of a party.

“A party?”

“Yeah, the Wayne Benefit Gala. I’ve never even _been_ to a gala. I’m looking forward to meeting Tim Drake, though. I’m finally going to hand his ass to him for messing up the curve in every single class we have together,” she remarked offhandedly. Robin raised an eyebrow and his mouth twitched into what almost looked like a smirk.

“You don’t like Tim Drake?”

“Fuck no. The dick is in a bunch of my classes and he doesn’t even have to _try_ to do well. His daddy could easily pay for the university to just give him his degree and be done with it, but no, he has to be smart and do well anyway and mess it up for the rest of us.” 

Robin actually broke out into a full-on smirk before he and Superboy exchanged a glance with a hidden meaning Bowie couldn’t quite understand. It looked like a warning from Superboy, which Robin subsequently shrugged off. This was stranger behavior than usual, even for Robin.

Honestly, it wouldn't surprise her if there was an attack on the Gala being planned by one of the Rogues. That would be just her luck. 

She finished up Robin’s purchase quickly enough and Superboy stepped up, sliding a keychain with a mermaid cat on it across the counter. 

Holy _fuck,_ this child was adorable.

Bowie raised an eyebrow but couldn’t suppress her grin. She scanned the keychain and slid it back across to him.

“That’s gonna be $6.88, kiddo,” she said and Superboy’s eyes widened. He pulled a change purse out of his hoodie pocket and dumped out what looked like at _least_ 20 quarters onto the counter. The kid quickly began counting them as Robin stared, halfway between mortified and not surprised.

“...what are you doing?” Robin hissed and Superboy didn’t even look up, intent on counting his change.

“This is my allowance money.”

“Your parents give you allowance in quarters.”

“Yes!”

Bowie had her hand over her mouth in a futile attempt not to let them know she was smiling like an idiot as she watched the exchange. God, this was literally _adorable._ Superboy counted the last quarter and slowly looked up at Robin, eyes wide and embarrassed.

“...I don’t have enough.”

Robin sighed the mildest sigh Bowie had ever heard from him and pulled out his credit card, quickly inserting it. Bowie had to take her hand away from her mouth to finish the purchase and once he saw her smile, Robin sent her what was legitimately the scariest death glare she had ever received.

“You speak of this to _no one,_ Chandler. I will disembowel you before you can press ‘send tweet.’”

“Dude, I don’t tell people that you and your family come in here. If I did, don’t you think the general public would be swarming the store every night?”

Robin’s facial expression gave away that it wasn’t the public he was worried about her telling. 

Bowie sighed but confirmed, “Okay, fine, I won’t tell Red Hood.” 

His glare only sharpened.

“Fine! I won’t tell Red Robin, either!”

Robin gave her a decisive nod. He pulled an envelope out of his belt and held it out to her. She took it (albeit a bit warily) and opened it to see four hundred dollars. 

“Robin, I can’t keep accepting these-“

“Red Robin is only useful when he’s caffeinated. Consider this my thanks for keeping him that way. Go on a date or something, I heard you somehow obtained a girlfriend.”

Robin turned and began his march to the exit. Superboy followed after him and called over his shoulder to her.

“Have a great night, miss! Thank you!”

At least Superman taught _his_ kids manners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this house, we DO NOT acknowledge aged-up Jon Kent. (I have never once written Jon before, so I hope I did him and his dynamic with Damian justice. If you guys have constructive criticism, let me know!)
> 
> Also - WE’VE HIT OUR FIRST MULTI-CHAPTER PLOT LINE!!!! Stay tuned for more gala prep and then the gala itself. (And an upcoming appearance from another Super.)
> 
> Also also - https://www.michaels.com/mer-cat-keychain-by-bead-landing/10591746.html
> 
> Also also also - comments and kudos are ALWAYS appreciated and make me smile brighter than Jon Kent :) Thank you all for reading!!
> 
> (GIVE ME SUGGESTIONS PLEASE I LOVE THEM)


	10. Chapter 10

Google was fucking _useless._

Never before had Bowie been so utterly failed by the internet. The search “what do reporters wear to a gala” had only returned pictures of Met Gala dresses that were _so_ hopelessly out of her price range it was laughable. This _stupid_ party was in ten days and she was woefully underprepared.

As usual.

She was mindlessly scrolling through Forever 21’s website in hopes of finding a dirt cheap evening gown when the bell rang. Bowie quickly slammed her laptop shut and straightened up, an uncontrollable grin spreading across her face at the sight of Red Robin.

“Hey man! You here for your Red Bull?” She asked and leaned across the counter just in time to see someone else walk through the doors.

No, he didn’t walk. He _floated._

The other Superboy’s feet hit the ground next to Red Robin’s as he offered a wave.

“Hi! Heard you were the one who’s been hooking Red up with Red Bull.” Bowie’s only response was to let out a long sigh and pinch the bridge of her nose.

“This is what my life has come to. I deal Red Bull to a college kid in spandex every night, and he brings his Metropolis friends. What the _fuck.”_

Not her most polite response ever, but hey, it fit the situation. 

Red Robin raised an eyebrow in surprise. 

“Uh… Bowie? You good?” Bowie waved him off and gave him a wry smile.

“Yeah. All good. I think I’m suffering from about 17 different symptoms of dehydration right now, but it’s all good.” Red Robin’s eyes widened and he leaned on the counter.

“Dude. _Same.”_

“...okay. I see now why you’re friends,” the newcomer interjected. Damn, Bowie really had done him dirty with that introduction, hadn’t she? She held out her hand to make amends.

“Hi. Sorry about that. I’m Bowie, nice to meet you. You a friend of Red’s?” Superboy took her hand and shook it, adjusting his leather jacket with his other hand.

“...friend. Yeah. You could say that. I’m Superboy, but you probably already knew that,” he introduced himself. Bowie noticed Red’s cheeks reddening at the mention of the word ‘friend’ and made a note to interrogate him about it later. For now, however, she unfortunately had to do her job.

“What are you guys in for tonight?”

“First off… I need a hair tie.” Red Robin admitted and Bowie groaned, choosing to ignore the hair tie she had put on her wrist specifically because Red asked for one _every night._

“You can’t get your own damn hair ties? Looking at all that equipment, you’d think you’d be rich.”

“The hair ties work better when they come from you.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Nevertheless, Bowie pulled the hair tie off of her wrist and shot it at Red Robin slingshot-style. He easily caught it and began to expertly tie his hair back with a grin.

“Thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah, go fuck yourself. But seriously, what are you in for?” She asked. Red Robin opened his mouth to respond, but Superboy beat him to the punch. 

Not literally. Bowie suspected being punched by Superboy would be quite painful.

“Something in the back of the store,” he interjected yet again and oh boy, he really thought he was being subtle when he grabbed Red Robin’s hand, didn’t he? Somehow Red’s cheeks flushed even _more_ as he quickly nodded along. 

“Yeah. Mhm. In the back of the store. We’re gonna… go do that.” And before Bowie could do any more than raise a questioning eyebrow at him, they were off, Superboy leading Red Robin to the back corner.

Holy fuck. They were going to desecrate her store, weren’t they?

Nope. She _refused_ to listen to whatever was going to happen next. So she put in her earbuds, turned up Newsies to full volume, and continued her mindless scrolling. Maybe Macy’s would be a good option. Forever 21 predictably did not have any good dresses.

About ten minutes later, Bowie glanced back up to see Red Robin and Superboy leisurely strolling up to the front of the store. They did not appear to have gone all the way, thank god, but it did not go unnoticed by Bowie that neither of them had any actual products in their hands.

And Red Robin’s hair, which she had just seen him tie up, was now down again. And decidedly more disheveled than before.

God fucking _dammit,_ they _had_ half-sinned in her store.

Red Robin slid two cans of Red Bull across the counter. He was pointedly avoiding her gaze, which was good because if looks could kill, he would be dead. Superboy sauntered on over and wrapped an arm around Red Robin, flashing her a half-smile.

“Don’t worry. We didn’t do anything _that_ bad,” he offered and Bowie snorted. Red Robin was _definitely_ leaning into Superboy. Yeah, this was kind of adorable.

“Yeah, okay. The only reason I’m taking your word for it is because all your clothes are still on the right way. By the way, you hurt Red and I’ll kill you in unspeakably painful ways.”

“You? Kill me?” Superboy asked in a vaguely amused tone. Red Robin winced.

“Ooh, I wouldn’t go there with her,” he warned, but it was too late. Bowie’s eyes had already narrowed, all the might of her wrath focusing in on this dude and his stupid fingerless gloves.

“Listen up, you Metropolitan fuckface. This is _my_ Red Bull client. I am his dealer. We have a very specific, very important relationship. Did you know his caffeine intake lines up with his emotional state? He usually buys two, three if he’s stressed from school, four if he’s stressed from the nightlife, and I’m assuming he’d go up to five if there was some personal shit going on. No? You didn’t know that? _I did._ And I don’t want to see him go up to five cans so he can drown his sorrows in energy drinks. You’d best stay out of my way, buddy, because I am from Gotham, I am a journalist, and I know at least 30 ways to ruin and/or kill your ass _without_ having to fall back on Kryptonite, ranging from a rumor mysteriously leaked to the press to a shot of oxygen into your bloodstream between your toes. You got that?”

Red Robin was definitely smirking, Superboy had gone rigid, and Bowie’s death glare intensified.

“You’d better give me an answer, grungelord.”

“...I got it. Thanks.” Superboy confirmed shakily. Bowie immediately gave him a cheery smile and slid Red’s energy drinks back across the counter to him.

“Great! So we have an understanding. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go back to shopping for gala dresses on Macy’s.” At the mention of a gala, Red’s head shot up from where it had been resting on Superboy’s shoulder.

“Gala dresses? For what?”

“I’m covering the Wayne Benefit Gala for a school assignment, it’s in ten days, and I have neither the budget nor the expertise to get a decent dress,” Bowie admitted, her shoulders somewhat sinking as the reality of her situation sunk in. Fuck, she was so totally screwed.

“Okay, so if you’re a reporter, you’re going to want to wear something darker so you blend in, but you also need to look like you belong there. I suggest black, just because it’s your first one.” Red explained, spinning Bowie’s laptop around on the counter so he could start searching the internet. Bowie didn’t have time to stop him, as she was still trying to process what the fuck he had just said.

“...okay, how do you know all this shit about galas?” She asked incredulously. Red Robin shrugged, a tiny smirk on his face as he continued to type.

“Let’s just say I grew up in… well, I’ve been to more than a few galas in my time.” Bowie didn’t know why she was surprised. Obviously, Red Robin’s gear was high tech as _fuck,_ so he had to be rich, but he always seemed so down to earth. Around her, anyway.

Superboy leaned over Red’s shoulder, occasionally making comments on what Bowie assumed were the dresses Red was finding for her. While she waited, she pulled out her phone and snapped a discreet photo of the two hunched over her computer, Superboy’s chin on Red Robin’s shoulder.

The picture wasn’t for any reason in particular. She just thought they were cute.

Eventually, the two came to an agreement and Red spun the computer back around to show a black evening gown with a tight-fitting bodice and modest neckline.

“Tada!” Superboy exclaimed. Bowie leaned forward to examine the picture they had pulled up. It… actually looked like it would fit her pretty well, so she scrolled up to check the price and oh hell no. Nope.

 _“Red._ This is $5,000. I can’t afford this.” Red Robin merely shrugged in response, the trademark Robin grin spreading across his face as he and Superboy made quick eye contact.

“It’s okay. I can,” he responded. Bowie’s eyes widened and she lunged for the laptop, but before she could, Superboy blocked her desperate grab. Red Robin pulled out his credit card and quickly began entering the info while Bowie struggled to hop over the counter, which Superboy was barring her from doing.

“Let me GO, you Metropolis, Boy Scout reject, Kurt Cobain - Red, you are _not_ buying that dress for me-“

“Too late!” Red sang as Superboy finally stepped back. He slid the laptop back over to her with the purchase already made. Bowie slumped forward against the counter, sighing.

“Fuck you. You didn’t need to do that.”

“You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy yourself.” Red Robin responded sincerely. He opened his mouth and was about to say something else when Superboy’s head snapped to the side as if he was listening for something. Both Bowie and Red quickly shut up, and Superboy turned back to Red.

“We have to go. Now.” Red Robin nodded and made his way to the door with Superboy, bidding Bowie a quick farewell. 

Bowie _would_ have let him go without an issue, she really would have, but she was never one to pass up an opportunity to mess with one of her boys.

“Hey Red!” She called. Red Robin turned back to her.

“Put your hair back up.”

Red flushed a brighter red than his costume and sprinted out with his Red Bull, tying his hair up as he went. Bowie chuckled and turned back to her computer screen. One step closer to the gala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was literally all written from 12:30-2 AM so I belatedly apologize for any incoherence.
> 
> Also: hi y’all! Sorry it’s been almost three weeks. School caught up to me and this fic kind of got away from me, but we’re back!
> 
> Also also: 90S KON 90S KON 90S KON. Timkon is absolutely canon, DC are just COWARDS.
> 
> (Comments! Kudos! Always appreciated! I wish all of you the best!)


	11. Chapter 11

“The flat iron is broken.”

“What the  _ fuck _ do you mean, the flat iron is broken?!”

“The flat iron is broken!”

Bowie groaned and spun around in her spinny chair to witness Harper, her roommate, jiggling the flat iron’s plug around in the outlet. Harper pressed the on button a few times and then sat back on their heels, casting a defeated glance Bowie’s way.

“No luck. It’s dead.”

Bowie took a quick moment to scream into her hands. Needless to say, gala night wasn’t off to a great start. 

But the world wasn’t ending. She could make this better. She took one moment to compose herself and exhaled slowly before spinning to look back at Harper.

“Okay. How much can we do with the natural look?” She asked and Harper’s eyes lit up as they sprang to their feet and sprinted over to the pathetic excuse for a vanity. (Hey, it was college and both of them were sadly broke. There was no money to be spent on vanities.)

“WE CAN DO SO MUCH. Just give me fifteen minutes.”

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, Bowie’s hair was looking more gala-ready than it would have if they had had a flat iron at their disposal. Upon seeing it in the mirror, Bowie breathed a sigh of relief and spun back around to face Harper.

“You, Harper, are a fucking  _ life-saver.”  _ Harper shrugged, a slightly proud smile on their face.

“Yeah, well. You clean up nice enough on your own. Can I see the dress so I know what makeup look to go for?” They asked and Bowie nodded, jumping out of her seat to go to the closet. She opened the door, pushed past Harper’s wardrobe that covered the entire gender spectrum, and pulled out the black dress to a  _ loud _ wolf whistle from Harper.

“God fucking  _ damn!  _ Where did  _ that  _ come from?!”

Shit, now Bowie had to make up some excuse that  _ wasn’t  _ ‘my vigilante friend/client with a bank account on Lex Luthor’s level bought it for me.’ 

“I, um… I bought it.” Bowie attempted and Harper’s eyebrow raised.

“Bitch, with whose money?”

Bowie flushed and shoved the dress at Harper. “Shut up.” Harper snorted and began unzipping the dress as Bowie pulled her shirt over her head.

“I mean, seriously. We can’t even afford a decent vanity if we put all of our money together. This had to be at  _ least _ a couple grand. How the fuck did you afford this?”

_ “Please _ just help me get into my dress,” Bowie all but begged and Harper finally conceded, helping Bowie step into the dress and sliding it up over her body. Harper zipped it up and then took a step back, wolf-whistling.

“Well, at least we know your secret sugar daddy has  _ taste,”  _ they mused. Bowie let out an indignant screech and shoved Harper onto their bed. They fell back on their ass, laughing the whole way.

“Shut the fuck  _ up,  _ there is no sugar daddy-“ A knock on the door cut Bowie off and she shot a triumphant grin at Harper. Saved by the bell. Harper rolled their eyes and got up to answer the door, flipping Bowie off and muttering an assurance that this wasn’t over. Fuck.

The door opened and Sara stepped in. Bowie’s face lit up and she quickly crossed the room to give her a quick kiss and a hug.

“Hi babe!” Sara exclaimed, laughing as she stepped back a bit from the sheer force of Bowie’s hug. “How’s the prep going?”

“It’s going well! Harper is helping me. We just have to do my makeup and then I’ll be good to go,” Bowie explained, pulling back. Sara reached out and took a bit of Bowie’s hair between her fingers, frowning.

“Did Harper do your hair?” She asked and Bowie nodded in confirmation. Sara leaned around Bowie to look at Harper.

“Do you take constructive criticism?”

“Not without crying, no,” Harper responded cheerfully. Sara sighed and took Bowie’s shoulders, leading her to sit down in front of the vanity.

“It’s okay. I’m sure I can work something out,” she muttered, reaching for a brush. Bowie grabbed her wrist to stop her. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I think it looks great. We should just leave it. Harper’s gonna do my makeup, if that’s okay.” Sara raised an eyebrow but conceded and stepped back. Harper came forward and did Bowie’s makeup as quickly as they could, finishing up a smoky-eyed look to go with her black dress. Eventually they stepped back and Bowie spun around to look.

“Harper, this is  _ perfect.  _ Thank you-“

“Yes, it’s perfect, now come on, we’re gonna be late!” Sara exclaimed impatiently, grabbing Bowie’s hand and all but dragging her out of the door. Bowie managed to shrug at Harper on the way out, but the disappointed look on Harper’s face left a sour taste in her mouth. Sara led Bowie down to the limo the university had hired for them and pushed her inside, closing the door behind her and getting in on the other side. The car started moving and Bowie looked over at Sara as Sara smoothed down her dark red dress.

“You know, I know you’re not that fond of Harper, but you don’t have to be rude to them.” Sara sighed in response and took Bowie’s hand.

“We were late. I was worried. But I won’t do it again if it upsets you that much.”

They were silent for the rest of the car ride as Bowie’s foot tapped nervously and she flipped through her notepad, reviewing the plans she had written. It was pointless to attempt to get to Bruce Wayne. He would be swamped the whole night, so the main goal was to find Dick Grayson. He was the best in interviews, and once he started talking, he didn’t stop, so she could get a lot of information out of him. Usually only one or two of Wayne’s collection of sons attended any given gala, so if Grayson wasn’t there, the next man up was regrettably Tim Drake. He was awkward, and a bitch, but he gave quality, premeditated answers. Damian Wayne and Jason Todd were lost causes. Wayne Jr. gave one word answers and Todd usually turned the question back around on the reporter just to fuck with them. 

For her own sake, she just had to pray that either Grayson or Drake (ew) would be in attendance.

The limo pulled to a stop and Bowie looked out at the red-carpeted stairs, endlessly flashing cameras, and rich people that defined the glorified media circus known as the Wayne Benefit Gala.

This was it.

The door opened and the limo flooded with outside noise. Bowie stepped out of the limo and waited for Sara to come around before they both began their climb up the stairs. Bowie stopped suddenly and turned back around to face Sara.

“Listen, I know you’re my plus-one, so you’re technically off the hook, but I’m actually here for work, okay? Please try to stay professional.” Sara gave her a lopsided grin and a lazy salute. Bowie sighed and turned back around. They finally made it inside and holy  _ shit,  _ people actually  _ lived _ in this house?! It was fucking  _ massive.  _

It seemed like it would be kind of lonely to grow up in, actually.

The flow of traffic took them into an even bigger ballroom area where most of the conversation was happening. Sara blew straight past Bowie to get to the appetizers, but Bowie stopped at the doorway to do a quick head count.

Bruce Wayne himself was near the wall, trying to pretend like he didn’t want to crawl out of his skin as he talked to fifteen reporters at once. Grayson was chatting up an older reporter in the center of the ballroom, thank god. Todd was there too, sitting up at the front of the  room and shooting spitballs at people’s hair. No surprises there. So they must have been the two sons Wayne had forced to attend this year. She was about to start trying to shove her way towards Grayson when an indignant shout caught her attention and she turned back around. 

Over by the dry bar, Drake had his hand over Wayne Jr.’s mouth and appeared to be threatening him with death if he yelled again.

But that would mean that all four of them were here.

_ Why were all of them here? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GALA IS UNDERWAY AND IM SO DAMN EXCITED ABOUT IT YOU GUYS. 
> 
> Everybody send well-wishes to the irl inspo for Harper!! They just had a surgery :) (You can find them at @them_fatale on here)
> 
> Also, I’ve been intentionally keeping Bowie’s appearance ambiguous, because I’m not a POC but I’ve heard stories of how deflating it can be when you see yourself in a character but then the author throws in something about ‘throwing my thin straight brown hair into a messy bun that complimented my blue orbs’. So I’ve been avoiding that. Just out of curiosity: how have you guys been picturing Bowie? 
> 
> Have a great day and thank you for all the support!! We’ve hit 450 kudos and almost 4500 hits, which is absolutely surreal to me. Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Be well. :)


	12. Chapter 12

This had to be some sort of fever dream.

Four out of five of Wayne’s kids were here. The daughter didn’t usually come to public events, so she was a non-factor, but all four of the sons being here was unheard of. This was not what Bowie had prepared for  _ at all.  _

What was the plan of attack now?

Bowie took a deep breath and resolved to go with the original plan. Regardless of who was here, Grayson was still the best with interviews. Todd and Wayne Jr. wouldn’t give her a damn thing, and she refused to stoop so low as to voluntarily speak to Drake.

Across the room, Bowie caught Todd’s eye. His eyes widened subtly and he held her gaze for a moment before breaking it and getting out of his chair to disappear into the crowd.

Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _ Not only were all of them here, now Todd was acting weird, too. Weirder than usual. And he usually acted pretty fucking weird.

Todd was an unusual case to begin with. There was a period of time where he had disappeared from the public eye. Bowie had been pretty young at the time, but she had a vague memory of a death announcement and watching the public memorial service on TV. A few years later, he popped back up with only an announcement that he had simply been found. Basically, everyone had pretty clear memories of Jason Todd’s death, but nobody was able to explain his reappearance, so it was mostly attributed to the Mandela Effect.

There was even a BuzzFeed Unsolved episode about him. Todd had retweeted the link to the video on Twitter, but refused to confirm or deny anything that had been discussed. 

Bowie suspected he just enjoyed the chaos.

Her attempts to push through to Grayson finally succeeded and she pulled out her phone, pressing record on voice memos before shouting, “Mr. Grayson!”

Grayson turned around to face her and for some odd reason, his face lit up.

“Hi B- hi! Are you the Gotham U reporter this year?” He asked, turning his full attention on her. 

Goddamn, Bowie had not expected this. He was very good looking, and she was very bi, but she hadn’t expected him to be so casual about this. He hadn’t been with the other reporters.

“Um - y-yeah. Yeah. That’s me-“ Bowie managed to get out before Grayson interrupted, “Yeah, they send one every year. C’mon, I’ll take you somewhere less crowded, I know how overwhelming it can be.”

And with that, Dick fucking Grayson took her hand to pull her out of the circle of reporters and over to the side of the room. What the fuck was  _ happening. _ He turned to her again, noted her shocked face, and chuckled as he ran a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah. Sorry. I usually like to give the college kids a little more space since it can get really crowded.” Bowie snapped herself out of her disbelief with a shake of her head, managing to smile. 

“It’s no problem! I appreciate it, actually. It took a really long time to even get to you. Bowie Chandler,” she introduced herself as she held out her hand. Grayson took it and shook it firmly, clearly trying to hold back a smirk.

“Dick Grayson. Nice to meet you. You look great, by the way. Usually the college kids who come in aren’t nearly as cleaned up as you are.”

“Yeah, well, I had some… outside help. Thank you, though.”

“No problem. So what do you want to know?” He asked cheerfully. Bowie cleared her throat and took a deep breath before beginning.

“Over the past year, your adoptive father Bruce Wayne has allotted more of his income to many of his relief programs, including the Grayson Memorial Foundation, which as you know is used to help orphaned children get back on their feet. What does that foundation in particular mean to you, and did you have a hand in the increased payments?” Grayson listened intently and took a moment to collect his thoughts before responding with a cheeky grin.

“Well, I legally can’t confirm or deny my hand in the increased payments. I’m sure you understand. In regards to the foundation as a whole, obviously it means a lot to me. Bruce has given me a big hand in the foundation’s operations, which I appreciate, and it means the world to me that I get to help my parents to be remembered in a positive way like this. I was in the place of these kids once, and not all of them have a billionaire who’s willing to take them in like I did, so I do my best to help in any way that I can.” 

He took a deep breath before adding, “Off the record? That was a great question. Very detailed. You clearly put thought into it.”

Bowie raised an eyebrow, trying and failing to completely suppress her smile. He liked her question. Thank  _ fuck.  _ “Do you critique all Gotham’s reporters like this?” 

Grayson shook his head as his grin grew. “Nope.”

Bowie was about to open her mouth to retort when someone cleared their throat behind her. She turned around to see Damian Wayne.

The bite-sized Wayne sent an appraising glance her way before marching forward to stand next to Grayson and looking up at him. Bowie’s eyes followed him the whole way, because from all the research she’d done, Wayne Jr. avoided reporters like the plague. Had she just gotten bad intel? Is that why everything she had planned for was the exact opposite?

“Hey, Dami, what’s up?” Grayson asked, wrapping an arm around Wayne’s shoulders. Wayne wrinkled his nose and shoved Grayson away. 

“I noticed you pull this one aside. I wanted to make sure that she wasn’t causing any issues for you,” he snapped, side-eyeing Bowie the whole time. Fuck it. Bowie bit the bullet and held out her hand.

“Hi. I’m Bowie Chandler.”

Wayne stared at her hand, clearly affronted by her audacity. The corners of his mouth twitched and Bowie braced herself. A long moment passed in which none of them moved, but eventually, Wayne just sneered at her and stepped away, disappearing into the crowd. 

Bowie slowly turned to look up at Grayson, who was grinning like a madman.

“He likes you.”

“How is that liking me?”

“He didn’t curse you out in Arabic. I’d count that as a victory.“

“What’s up, Dickwad?!” Someone exclaimed from behind Grayson. Grayson simply closed his eyes and sighed as Todd put his arm around Grayson’s shoulder and shot a finger gun at Bowie.

“Hey, kid. Nice to meet ya like this.”

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. She had now spoken to  _ three _ Waynes.

“Uh… hi? Hi. I’m Bowie Chandler, Gotham U.” She introduced herself, deciding to forgo the handshake this time. It probably wouldn’t do much good with Todd. Poor Grayson was now pinching the bridge of his nose as Todd’s wicked grin intensified.

“Yeah, I figured. ‘S usually easy to pick the college kids out, but hey, you’re doing better than most. How’s it going so far, kiddo?”

“Pretty good. Your brother here has been doing great with the interview part.”

“Yeah, he usually does.” Todd shoved Grayson’s shoulder and Grayson pushed him away, a small smile on his own face.

“Do you exist just to bother me?” Grayson asked and Todd gave a noncommittal shrug. 

“So why didn’t you come over to interview me first, huh, kid?” Todd asked. To be quite honest, Bowie felt oddly comfortable around him. Something about his voice seemed very familiar, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t place it. 

“To be honest with you, Mr. Todd, your track record of giving interviews isn’t that great,” she returned. Todd tilted his head with a smirk, intrigued.

“And by that, you mean…?”

“I mean, I saw the viral video of you turning everything that FOX News reporter asked into a sexual innuendo. I realize she was from FOX, but I wasn’t particularly looking to have that happen to me.” Todd let out a loud laugh at her response and was about to respond when all three of them turned their heads at the sound of approaching footsteps.

With a twisted grin on his face, Wayne Jr. shoved Timothy Drake forward. Drake skidded to a stop in front of Bowie and Wayne Jr. crossed his arms over his chest.

“Chandler, this is Timothy Drake. I’m sure you’ve met.” Wayne announced almost gleefully. Drake cleared his throat and dusted off his suit jacket before holding his hand out to her.

“Hey, I’m Tim. I’m pretty sure we’re in a couple classes together.”

Bowie’s eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms, mirroring Wayne Jr’s position. A long moment passed before Drake got the hint and he let his hand drop, chuckling awkwardly.

“Um… yeah. I think we had Intro to Communications together last year-“

“We did.” Bowie cut him off shortly. Drake opened his mouth to try again, and again, Bowie interrupted.

“Yes, we had two classes together last year, and we have four together this year. May I ask why you’re at Gotham U?” She asked and Drake’s eyebrows raised. 

“I - um, it was close to home?”

“You’re clearly better suited for a school like Harvard. Or maybe USC, I hear their admissions department is open to rich parents paying off their kids’ education.” Wayne Jr. was looking very proud of himself, and she was pretty sure she could hear Todd snickering behind her. Drake’s face hardened slightly but still kept up the facade of professionalism.

“I never wanted anybody to pay off my education.”

“Exactly, so now the curve for every final in my classes is worse than it should be. But hey, I’m glad you’re doing well in school!” She exclaimed happily.

“I’m actually not-“ 

“Hey, babe, what are you doing?” Sara asked, coming up behind Bowie. Bowie glanced back and gestured to the four sons assembled before her.

“I’m interviewing!” Bowie grinned. Sara wrinkled her nose at her.

“Doesn’t look like it. C’mon, we have to get to our seats.”

“But-“

“Bowie,  _ c’mon.” _ Sara snapped, grabbing Bowie’s hand. Bowie hesitated but followed, managing to wave behind her at the Waynes. Grayson and Todd waved back. Drake was too busy swatting Wayne Jr. across the head with a rolled-up napkin.

She thought she heard a muttered “I don’t like her”, but that was probably just in her head.

Sara led Bowie to their assigned seats with the rest of the press, and within five minutes, everyone else was seated. Bruce Wayne got out of his seat and approached the microphone, and Bowie knew she should have been watching him, but her eyes kept getting drawn to his children who sat at the head of the table with him. Wayne Jr. sat up straight, fully at attention for his father. Drake was putting up a good show of paying attention, but he was clearly already bored, picking at his fingers. Grayson sat at ease, leaning back and watching his father with a small smile.

And Todd clearly just didn’t give a shit, arm over the back of his chair and leg over the arm of the chair. So far, Grayson had made three attempts to subtly nudge him into the right position. Todd readjusted every time.

God, Bowie was  _ sure _ she knew him from somewhere.

Wayne finally made his way to the microphone. He tapped on it, opened his mouth to welcome his guests, and one of the walls exploded.

Fucking Gotham.

Bowie’s knee-jerk reaction was to grab Sara and pull her under the table, but Sara was already gone, running for the doors. So Bowie waited under the table alone for a long, terrifying moment. It felt like an eternity before the rubble finally crashed down on the table.

Almost immediately, the table splintered and a chunk of marble wall wound up comfortably resting on top of Bowie’s calf. The pain didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she wasn’t going anywhere now, which was a much bigger issue.

She managed to flip the tablecloth over her head just in time to see green tendrils spreading throughout the room and to hear a Brooklyn accent screech,

“PARTY’S OVER, BITCHES, SHOW ME YOUR FUCKING WALLETS!”

Yeah. Nothing could have prepared Bowie for any of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DELUXE CHAPTER!!!
> 
> I am a FIRM believer that Jason has a BuzzFeed Unsolved episode dedicated to his disappearance/reappearance, and that Jason simply likes fueling the chaos around the circumstances.
> 
> In other news: I am a simp for Dick Grayson. I am SUCH a simp for Dick Grayson that I made a fancam for YJ Dick Grayson. Find it here: https://twitter.com/carolina_tpwk/status/1318414154852634625?s=21
> 
> Also I love writing Tim and Damian interactions? Like, Tim clearly did not want to talk to Bowie. But he was forced.
> 
> Let me know what you think! What are your favorite parts of the chapter? Favorite interactions? Favorite moments? Comments and kudos are always appreciated! More batfam members are coming soon!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// blood

Most of the other reporters had run for the door. Smart fuckers. They lived in Gotham, they prepared for shit like this, and they were  _ experienced _ in shit like this.

Bowie, on the other hand, had pulled a dumbass move and hid under the table. And now she had a piece of marble pinning her leg down while Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy were wreaking havoc on Wayne Manor.

Yes, this was her life. How had she gotten to this point?

Luckily (or unluckily), Bowie wasn’t the only civilian still in the room. Not by a long shot. Up towards the front, quite a large number of rich old people were surrounded by debris. Guests were scattered across the room with varying degrees of injuries, but it didn’t look like anyone had been killed. Yet.

She twisted to look up front just in time to see multiple Waynes being ushered out the side door by the GCPD.

Of fucking course. Protect the rich. Leave the rest.

Harley was hopping from marble block to marble block, pigtails bouncing. Ivy followed behind her, decidedly less animated. Bowie groaned and flipped the tablecloth back over her head. Maybe if she ignored it, it would just go away.

No. Unfortunately, this was something she had to deal with, and she had to deal with it  _ now. _ Otherwise, she probably wouldn’t make it out alive.

Bowie flipped the tablecloth off of her head again and sat up to survey the damage. The marble was indeed pinning her calf down, and there was a small puddle of blood on the floor, but to be honest, she could barely feel it. The adrenaline was too strong right now. It would probably hurt like a bitch later. The pain wasn’t as big of a problem right now, though. She needed to  _ get out. _

Another section of wall crumbled and the air filled with dust. Bowie involuntarily started to cough and then yelped as the motion made the marble shift on top of her leg. Yeah, there was the pain. Awesome.

“Aw, Red, the whole wall is gonna come down,” Harley whined from across the room. Ivy groaned and rose up into the air, her plants growing underneath her.

Bowie had always wondered how that worked. What with photosynthesis and all that shit. She was a fucking journalism major, not a biologist.

“Listen up, people! We don’t want to hurt anybody-“ Ivy looked down at Harley twirling her baseball bat and sighed before correcting herself, “-I don’t want to hurt anybody. We just need a few credit cards and we’ll be on our way. Got it?”

“Yeah, well, you blew up a wall, I think that kind of cancels out not wanting to hurt anybody!” A voice called from above. Harley immediately looked up to see a purple boot flying towards her face. Spoiler took her out with ease and turned to look up at Ivy, who was now looking particularly murderous.

“I mean, seriously. Just hold up a fancy restaurant. You didn’t have to blow out a whole  _ wall.”  _ Spoiler argued and quickly jumped aside to dodge the vine that shot her way. 

Yeah, it was time for Bowie to get out of here. She did  _ not  _ want to be a couple hundred feet away from this battle. She turned back to face her leg, took a deep breath, and shoved the marble with all her might. Immediately, white-hot pain raced up her leg and Bowie gasped, shoving her hand in her mouth to avoid a scream. Something was probably broken or sprained, then. She would need help getting out of here. 

And she would have had help, too, if her girlfriend hadn’t fucking run.

No, you know what, she didn’t need help. She would drag herself out if she had to. Bowie took another shaky breath and pushed the marble block even harder, biting her lip in a futile attempt to distract herself from the blinding pain. 

It didn’t work.

Eventually, Bowie relented and leaned back on her arms, slightly dazed and trying to catch her breath. It was no use. Someone was going to have to come and get this godforsaken thing off for her. Harley was back up on her feet, checking the pockets of every rich person left in the front of the room while Ivy continued to try and knock Spoiler down.

Bowie shut her eyes and resolved to wait until it was over.

That is, until the wall directly behind her started creaking.

Her eyes shot open and she twisted to look behind her at the cracks that were spreading throughout the wall. 

“No. No no no  _ fuck-  _ HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!” Bowie screamed, once again struggling to get the fucking marble block off of her. She couldn’t die here. There was so much she had to  _ do,  _ so much she had to - oh, god, what would Sara think?

Robin would probably never set foot in that craft store again.

Bowie had to get out of here. Even if it was just for that kid.  _ Especially  _ for that kid.

The wall creaked again and Bowie’s breathing hitched. Tiny pieces of marble began to flake off and she curled into a ball, putting her arms over her head. 

This was it.

“Alright, buddy, it’s your turn, show me the money - wait.”

Harley Quinn stood over Bowie, hands on her hips and her head tilted to the side. Bowie glaring up, daring Quinn to try anything.

“You’re just… you’re just a kid. What are you doing here, sweetie?” Harley asked. Bowie opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Harley was yet again knocked aside. Spoiler landed not-so gracefully and immediately knelt down, shoving her shoulder against the marble block. 

“Hey, man, sorry about this, it’s probably really inconvenient-“ Spoiler gritted out as she pushed her entire body weight into getting the marble block off. Bowie bit her lip to keep from crying out, fists clenching from the pain. Harley stood back up and stomped over.

“Will you  _ stop _ knocking me out, I was gonna  _ help  _ her!” Harley exclaimed. Spoiler stopped pushing and looked back up at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Really?  _ You?” _

_ “Yes,  _ she’s just a kid! A baby! I wouldn’t rob her, she’s probably got no money anyway-“

“Can confirm. I have no money. Can you guys  _ please _ get this thing off of me?” Bowie interrupted, arms crossed. Both of them stopped to look at her. A long moment of silence passed before Harley joined Spoiler on the ground and both of them started pushing. Bowie groaned and let her head fall back, toes curling.

“Ow, FUCK-“

A large piece of wall smashed down about five feet away from them. All three of them froze, staring at it, and Harley finally called out:

“HEY, RED, GIVE US AN ASSIST!”

Ivy momentarily paused in her battle -  _ holy shit, that was fucking Batman _ \- and flicked her wrist. A tendril snaked across the room and pulled off the marble block with no problems. Bowie couldn’t stop staring as the block got dragged across the floor because that was  _ so  _ unfair. Harley and Spoiler, however, had no such awe and quickly snapped into action. Harley pushed Spoiler towards Bowie as the wall crumbled behind them. Spoiler scooped Bowie up with surprising ease, quickly firing her grappling hook and taking them outside. Finally.

Spoiler set Bowie down and motioned for a medic. Bowie, however, couldn’t stop giggling.

“How often do you work out? That was  _ impressive.  _ God, I love girls.” Spoiler raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, eyes crinkling in a smile.

“Aaaaand that’s the blood loss talking. That, or the shock. Either way, I appreciate the compliment. See you around, my guy!” Spoiler waved and with that, she was gone, swinging back into action. That was hot. She was  _ hot. _

Two people had heeded Spoiler’s summons. One was clearly a medic, and the other…

“Aw, Jesus fucking Christ, not you,” Bowie whined as Timothy fucking Drake sat down next to her. He was covered in a fine layer of dust, but she would recognize the Gucci polos (that he wore to class every damn day) anywhere.

“You’re crying,” Drake noted. Bowie touched a dirt-covered hand to her face, and sure enough, it came away wet.

“...I didn’t notice. Why do you care?”

“My house just got blown up, in case you hadn’t noticed. And you were in said house. I feel a little responsible.” 

“Oh, this is just fucking  _ great,  _ first my girlfriend abandons me and now Tim fucking Drake is insisting he cares. This night is a fucking train wreck.” 

“I mean, I think that’s a little extreme - wait, your girlfriend abandoned you?” Drake questioned, his eyebrow raising as something in his eyes darkened. Bowie shrugged miserably.

“Yeah. She up and left. Basically yeeted me to the wolves. More power to her, though, since I’m the one with the bleeding fucking leg.”

“If she abandoned you, then she’s not good enough for you. You deserve better.” Bowie opened her mouth to retort about how Drake didn’t even  _ know  _ her but the medic sitting at her feet interrupted.

“I have to splint your leg. It’s going to hurt, but it should hold until you get to the hospital-“

“No. No hospital,” Bowie interjected, feebly attempting to wave the medic away. Drake tilted his head to the side, confused.

“...why not?”

“Not all of us can be going to college debt free like  _ you,  _ asshole. I can barely afford school to begin with, and I definitely can’t afford the hospital, so-“

“It’s paid for.” Drake immediately shut her down. Bowie’s jaw  _ dropped. _

“What the fuck do you mean, it’s paid for?”

“Your leg is fucked up because my house literally fell on it. The hospital bills are paid for. No questions asked.”

“I… thanks?” Bowie was absolutely fucking floored. She had just torn into this guy about being an asshole, and now he was paying for her hospital bills. What the fuck. The medic mouthed something that looked like ‘distract her’ to Drake, who conveniently changed the subject.

“Of course. Hey, did you start that one project for media class yet? I haven’t even looked at it.”

“Have I started it? You - ow, Jesus  _ fuck _ \- haven’t looked at it? It’s due  _ tomorrow,  _ you imbecile. Of course I haven’t started it, what do you take me for?”

The medic finished splinting Bowie’s leg not long after, and Drake helped her limp to the ambulance. Just as the doors were about to close behind her, Bowie held them open and Drake glanced behind him.

“Just so you know? You’re still an asshole, Drake.” 

Drake smirked as the doors swung shut behind Bowie and the ambulance drove off. As soon as it was out of sight, he turned on his heel and walked back to his brothers, already resigned to the interrogation that was sure to come.

“You guys, her girlfriend fucking  _ abandoned _ her - Damian,  _ put away the sword-“ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEST GIRL STEPH. She was stationed in the trees outside because shit like this usually happens at galas. Bruce Wayne made an appearance outside to let the paps know he was safe and then went to ‘take care of some business at the police department’. AKA: fight Ivy. The boys stayed outside in civilian IDs to dispel any suspicion over why every single bat just happened to be at the gala at the same time.
> 
> I most definitely wrote Harley and Ivy to be based off of Harley and Ivy from the HBO Max show. I don’t make the rules.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the near-death experiences in tonight’s chapter! Have a great day/night :)
> 
> (I literally fucking thrive off of reading your comments, they FUEL me)


	14. Chapter 14

A stupid  _ bruise _ had never been so annoying. Bowie had missed an entire day of classes, and now she was unfortunately passed out at 3 in the afternoon in an uncomfortable, lumpy hospital bed. Awesome.

The hospital room window opened with a creak and Red Hood tumbled to the floor.

Bowie jolted awake and sat bolt upright, blinking in the sunlight until she focused in on the heap of groaning leather and daddy issues lying under the window.

Finally. It had been a boring day and a half.

“...are you fucking kidding me?” Bowie asked, trying to mask her glee with exasperation. Red Hood stood up and dusted himself off before flopping onto the bed next to her.

“How’re you doing, kiddo?”

“I didn’t tell you I was here.”

“I know. I stopped by the Marks last night and found… Ryan? Rachel? Rachel. Nice chick. She told me what happened, so I figured I’d drop in.”

“Yeah. You  _ literally  _ dropped in.”

“I will leave right now.” Hood threatened. Bowie laughed, almost giddy at the prospect of having  _ someone _ to talk to. Sara had come by in the morning to drop off flowers and chocolates. You could have cut the tension with a chainsaw, as Bowie was still fucking pissed that she had been abandoned to the (admittedly awesome) craziest lesbians ever, but she did appreciate the chocolates.

“So how long are you gonna be in here?” Hood asked, making himself comfortable next to her. Apparently he was not following through on his threat to leave. Thank god.

Bowie glanced at the clock. “About… three more hours. It’s only a - I think they called it a contusion? It’s a glorified bruise. But it looks nasty and they wanted to check out my head, so they kept me here overnight. It’s annoying as shit.” She pulled back the covers to display the impressive-looking bruise, and Red Hood whistled.

“Goddamn. Sorry I wasn’t there to help.”

“Nah, it’s okay, I had Spoiler there. Can you get me Spoiler’s contact info? I think I want to marry her.”

Red Hood chuckled and reached into his pocket. “Speaking of contact info…” He pulled out a flip phone and handed it to Bowie. She flipped it open to see four simple buttons where the numbers should have been: blue, red, yellow, and green. 

She looked up at him slowly. “...is this what I think it is?” Hood nodded and took back the phone.

“You bet your ass it is. If you’re ever in trouble, ring one of us. There’s a certain sequence for each of the buttons so no one knows how to do it but you, lemme show you.” Hood was in the process of teaching her Robin’s code when a group of men in suits strolled by her hospital room.

Among them was Brucie Wayne.

Wayne glanced into the room and his eyes widened. Bowie quickly looked over at Red Hood, who was sending Wayne a death glare. Hood motioned with two fingers for Wayne to move along, and after a moment’s hesitation, he did.

Hood allowed himself five seconds before his shoulders slumped and he groaned. “Shit.”

“How are you gonna explain your way out of that one, buddy?” Bowie asked, trying to hide her smirk. That was gonna be a fun interrogation.

“I gotta go convince him to keep quiet. When are you back at work?”

“Monday night into Tuesday morning. 11:30 pm sharp. You know the drill.”

“Sweet. I’ll see you there.” Hood tossed her the flip phone and swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing up with a huff. He stalked out of the room and Bowie rolled back over in bed and closed her eyes again, cursing the shitty blinds. 

Meanwhile, the moment Jason was out of view of Bowie’s doorway, a hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him into an empty hospital room. Bruce quickly closed the door behind them and met Jason’s glare with an even fiercer one.

“What in god’s name were you doing in there, Jason?”

“I - well - okay, what were  _ you _ doing here, Bruce? As far as I know, you haven’t put any child soldiers in the pediatric ward today. Yet.” Jason shot back, desperately trying to buy time to come up with a bullshit excuse.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “I  _ own _ this hospital.”

Shit. Yeah, he did. Jason had maybe five seconds to come up with something good. Something that would make Bruce.exe stop working so he would just let Jason  _ leave. _

“Jason. Answer my question.” Bruce ordered, crossing his arms. 

“...I’m visiting the children.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow and Jason internally cheered. Yeah, he knew it wouldn’t actually _work_ \- it never did - but it was fun to see just how far he could go with the bullshit before Bruce exploded.

“You. A vigilante crime lord. Drenched in the blood of your enemies. You are  _ visiting the children.” _

“Well damn, B, you don’t have to put it like  _ that.  _ Have a heart. The sick kids need a hero!” Jason returned, trying his very hardest to stifle a smile even though his face was covered with his helmet. He was pretty sure Bruce could sense smiles. They were practically Batman’s natural enemy. 

“The girl in the next room was  _ not  _ a child.” Bruce snapped. Jason was so close he could  _ taste _ it.

“Yeah, well,  _ actually,  _ she’s got a genetic disorder. Don’t be so insensitive. She’s really six and a half. Yesterday was her half birthday, actually, did you know that? No. Because Batman isn’t visiting sick kids. God, Bruce, where’s your morality?”

Bruce’s brain visibly left the chat and Jason knew he had won.

It was a full ten seconds before Bruce reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose and shooed away Jason with his other hand. “Get out of here.”

Jason fled the scene through the window, victorious and already texting Tim.

————

The next morning, Bowie was sitting in her professor’s office, a wrap around her leg and complete disbelief written all over her face.

“...they want me to do what?”

“The Gotham Gazette wants you to be their Wayne correspondent.” Her professor replied, lounging comfortably in her chair. Bowie had no idea how she could be so  _ calm  _ while relaying this earth-shattering, career-kickstarting news.

“But - why me? I didn’t do anything but get trapped at the Gala,” Bowie protested, her foot tapping nervously. Professor Valdez laughed and tilted her head to the side.

“Are we talking about the same gala? You had all  _ four _ of the Waynes around you at the same time. They’ve obviously taken a liking to you. Your column in the school paper is terrific. Why wouldn’t they want you on board?”

“Are they paying me? What would I have to do?” 

“They’re offering you a thousand a month. You’d have to make biweekly visits to Wayne Manor and interview one or more of the Waynes. The Gazette says they got permission from the butler… at the insistence of one Dick Grayson, apparently.”

Holy shit. Grayson had vouched for her.

“I just - Professor Valdez, do you really want me interacting with Tim Drake on the regular?” Bowie asked weakly. Professor Valdez chuckled and leaned forward.

“He’s really a nice kid, Bowie. I promise. I think you two will get along if you just talk a little more. Regardless, this is the perfect opportunity to jumpstart your career. What do you think?”

Bowie weighed her options. Yes, she’d have to talk to Tim Drake, but… she really needed that one grand a month. That, along with her Marks job, could put her in a much better place to pay off her loans.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I’ll take it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How does one apply to college successfully I’m fucking struggling
> 
> Also: hi everyone!! This chapter was very fun to write because I actually tried writing in a POV other than Bowie’s. Shocker. I fucking love Jason Todd btw.
> 
> Everybody have a great day and give me questions you’d like Bowie to ask one of the boys/Bruce/CASSANDRA CAIN in the comments!!


	15. Chapter 15

The empty notebook sat on the dorm bed in front of Bowie. Staring at her. Mocking her.

Her visit to Wayne Manor was in three short days and she had _nothing._ Harper was passed out on the bunk bed on top of her, and she had about half an hour until she was due at work. Then there was the ever-present issue of Sara.

Sara had admittedly been worrying Bowie recently. Their text conversations had dwindled to a minimum, and Bowie couldn’t remember the last time Sara made any effort to come see her instead of it being the other way around. Bowie sighed and pushed herself off of the bed, grabbing the notebook and a water bottle (hydration was key). Might as well drop by down the hall and see what Sara was up to.

Bowie closed the door of her own dorm very quietly so as to not wake Harper and headed down the hallway, humming quietly under her breath. She stopped in front of Sara’s door and knocked quietly three times.

“Hey Sara, it’s Bowie, can I-“

Sara threw the door open, breathing hard, hair disheveled, and shirt on backwards. Bowie raised an eyebrow, eyes immediately narrowing.

“...what are you doing?”

“N-nothing. I’m doing nothing.” Sara responded, chest heaving. 

“Can I come in?”

“But-“

“That wasn’t a question.” Bowie snapped and shoved past Sara. She walked right around her girlfriend and stopped in her tracks, staring at the wide-eyed girl in Sara’s bed who was topless and clutching the bedsheet to her chest.

_No._

She vaguely registered Sara shifting her weight behind her. “Listen, Bowie, it’s not what it looks like-“

“I’m not a fucking idiot.” Bowie’s voice was dangerously low. Sara reached forward to grab Bowie’s hand and Bowie slapped it away, whipping around to face Sara.

“I’m not a fucking idiot! What, you thought I hadn’t noticed how you’d been acting? You stopped giving a shit three weeks ago.”

“That’s not true-“

“BULLSHIT!” Bowie screamed, shoving Sara into the wall. Her cheeks and ears were both burning, and her chest was way too tight to be healthy, and she was pretty sure she was going to burst into angry tears as soon as she got out of here, and she didn’t fucking care.

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ talk to me. I don’t ever want to see you again. Delete my number. Get the fuck out of my life.” Bowie turned to leave, froze once again when she saw the girl in Sara’s bed, and then turned back to slap Sara in the face for good measure. Sara’s head snapped to the side and her jaw dropped as she reached up to touch her face. _Good._

Bowie slammed Sara’s door behind her and started on her ten minute walk to Marks, blinking furiously. She could feel the hot tears building, but she was not going to let them fall. Sara didn’t deserve her tears. 

Fifteen minutes later, Bowie was sitting at the counter, hands shaking and still staring down at that empty notebook, though the lines were rapidly blurring. She groaned and blinked even harder, furiously wiping at her eyes. 

God, she couldn’t be alone right now. She pulled out the handy dandy bat-helpline and dialed one bat after the other. She gave them no reason as to why she needed them, simply that she needed them, and hung up quickly. Her own voice couldn’t be trusted at the moment.

Robin was first to arrive. He gave her a tight nod and opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, but Red Hood interrupted him by straight up pushing the automatic door down, ripping it off of its hinges.

“Are you okay?” He asked. Bowie stared at the door on the ground and shook her head, clearing her throat. She had to stay in an angry state of mind rather than switching to sad. Being sad right now would be too much to bear.

“I have to wait for the other two.”

Just as she finished speaking, Nightwing and Red Robin arrived together. Nightwing leapt right over the fallen door; Red Robin, however, stopped over it and looked up at Red Hood in disappointment.

“Did you break her door?”

“I - maybe? What’s it to you?” Red Hood retorted defensively, crossing his arms. Red Robin rolled his eyes and turned to Bowie. “What’s up?”

The other three turned to look at her. She shrunk back slightly under everyone’s gaze but began anyway, voice shaking and quieter than usual.

“...so, um, about twenty minutes ago I went to go check up with Sara, and she opened the door with her shirt on backwards so I went in, and - and there was a girl in her bed.”

Robin’s eyes narrowed. “She cheated on you.”

Bowie’s voice broke and the hot tears finally began to fall. “She cheated on me.” 

They reacted in what seemed like slow motion.

Robin seemed to be having issues comprehending the situation. He merely stood there, head tilted to the side.

Nightwing immediately hopped the counter and opened his arms. Bowie collapsed into him and finally broke down, clinging to him like a lifeline. 

Red Robin, however, turned away from Bowie. “Hood…”

Bowie couldn’t see it, but Jason was physically shaking with fury, his helmet’s eye lenses tinted a suspicious shade of neon green. Tim took a careful step towards him. When Jason didn’t recoil, Tim took the chance and got close enough that no one else could hear them talk.

“Jason, you have to calm down.”

“I knew it, I fucking _knew_ it, I could tell at the fucking gala-“

“I know, I could too, but _she_ doesn’t know that you knew, and I wish we could tell her but we _can’t.”_

Jason clenched and unclenched his fists. “I’m going to fucking kill that bitch. I’m going to disembowel her. I’m going to rip her limb from limb, I’m going to break every fucking bone in her body.”

“Jason, _no-_ oh fuck, where’s Robin?”

Sure enough, Damian was no longer in the craft store. Tim turned his back to Jason to look around, but Damian was nowhere to be found.

And when he turned back around, neither was Jason. 

“God fucking _damn it._ Nightwing!” Red Robin called. Nightwing glanced up and swore under his breath at the empty space where his brothers used to be. Bowie looked up at Nightwing, and he took a moment to smooth her hair back and kiss the top of her head.

“Will you be okay here with Red Robin? I think I have to stop a few assassination attempts,” he sighed and Bowie nodded, untangling herself from his hug. Nightwing moved to leave but hesitated and turned around just before he reached the door.

“You’re worth more than that. You know that, right? You’re worth _so_ much fucking more.”

Bowie nodded and took a shaky breath. “I know.” And, surprisingly, she didn’t lie. Nightwing nodded, offered her one last smile, and then he was out the door to stop Sara from being brutally murdered and/or shishkebabed. 

Bowie was left with Red Robin, who looked like a deer caught in headlights. Eventually, he hopped onto the counter, legs dangling, and patted the spot next to him. “Come sit.”

Bowie climbed up and sat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder and thoroughly exhausted from getting tears and snot all over Nightwing’s suit. Red Robin froze up, but hesitantly wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“Do you want to talk about it, or do you want me to distract you?”

“Distract me. Please.”

Red Robin nodded and slid off the counter, his eyes scanning the store for a possible distraction. “Why is there so much Christmas shit?”

“It’s Christmas,” Bowie deadpanned.

“It’s November. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”

“I work in a crafts store. _It’s Christmas.”_

Red Robin shrugged and continued with his search. His gaze landed on the tubes of wrapping paper and he picked one up to toss it to her. Bowie caught it with a raised eyebrow, and he raised his bo staff in return.

“Do you want me to teach you how to spar?”

Bowie’s eyes lit up. _“Fuck yeah.”_

Twenty minutes later, Bowie was in the process of learning how to deflect a blow with a tube of wrapping paper when Nightwing came back in the door, looking pissed as fuck and dragging two complaining vigilantes behind him.

“Release me at _once,_ Nightwing, this is humiliating-“

“I am a GROWN MAN, you can’t just pull me around!”

Nightwing stopped abruptly, causing both Robin and Red Hood to stumble and stop talking. He took a low, deep breath before beginning. “Bowie, can you _please_ tell them that no matter what she did to you, AN ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT IS UNNECESSARY?!”

Bowie turned to face them and tilted her head, thinking about it. “Well…”

Nightwing’s glare somehow darkened even further. “Don’t you fucking _dare.”_

“Nah, I’m just kidding. Please don’t kill her.”

Robin wrenched his wrist free of Nightwing’s grasp and marched forward to stand directly in front of Bowie. She knelt down in front of him so that they were eye to eye, waiting to hear what he was going to say.

“...she wronged you. Should she not have to pay? Is avenging you not the honorable thing to do?”

“Not when it means murder. I mean, I’m all for playing tiny pranks on her, like glitter bombing her dorm and all that. I’d be happy to have your help with that, by the way. But I don’t want you killing anybody,” Bowie explained. Robin looked away, turning his nose up in the air.

“She fucking deserves it.” Red Hood spat from behind Nightwing. Bowie sighed and stood up to walk over to him. 

“Would you rather kill her now or make her suffer in a million tiny ways?”

“I’d still kill her now.” Red Hood deadpanned. Bowie pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation.

“Okay. Well, I’m asking you nicely to not kill her. Can you please not kill her? For me?”

Red Hood considered it for a moment but finally relented. “Fine. _Only_ for you.”

Bowie nodded, satisfied. “Good. Nightwing, can you get the rest of them home so they don’t make any more assassination attempts, please?”

Nightwing hesitated. “Are you sure you’re okay on your own tonight?”

“Please. I can handle myself. I’ll just blast sad music and be in my bag. It’s fine.”

“...okay. As long as you’re sure you’ll be okay. If you need _anything,_ call, okay? Come on.” Nightwing grabbed Robin and Red Hood yet again and motioned with his head for Red Robin to follow him. All four of them left the Marks and Bowie sat back down behind the counter, her expression dropping at the prospect of being alone among all the Christmas shit.

Outside, Red Hood pulled away from Nightwing and fell in step with Red Robin. “I figured you’d be angrier. I’m surprised you didn’t come with us.”

Red Robin shook his head, a dangerous smirk spreading across his face. “Oh, I’m fucking _furious._ But unlike you two idiots, I don’t run out to attempt murder unprepared. I come up with a _plan.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... y’all were waiting for something to happen with Sara. Here it is!!!!
> 
> This is a weird update time for me. I hope it gets the same engagement and shit.
> 
> I’d love to hear feedback for possible next pairings (?) for Bowie. I have a few ideas in the works. Romance definitely isn’t necessary to begin with, but I’m curious to see who y’all would match her with.
> 
> Once again, thanks for reading, commenting, & kudos-ing!! Every interaction is appreciated. <3


	16. Interlude

The dorm window’s lock slowly turned and a gloved hand pushed it open. 

Red Robin slipped inside under the cover of darkness. He silently made his way over to the bunk bed, climbed the ladder, and poked the snoring occupant of the top bunk. 

Harper rolled over and opened their eyes to stare directly into the white lenses of a mask.

“Please don’t freak out!” Red Robin hissed. 

It took Harper a solid two seconds to register. 

“THE FUCK-“

Red Robin groaned as Harper shot up, only to bang their head into the ceiling and slam back onto the mattress. 

“I asked you not to freak out,” he muttered. Harper was breathing hard and staring up at the ceiling, attempting to block out the existence of the vigilante next to them. Maybe if they ignored him, he would go away.

They chanced a quick glance to the left. Nope, he was still there. Goddammit.

“...the fuck.”

“You’re Bowie’s friend.”

“Jesus _fuck,_ can you at least let me get out of bed before you start interrogating me?” Harper answered, throwing their blankets off. Red Robin rolled his eyes but obliged and hopped off of the ladder, landing without a sound. Harper climbed down and faced the deadly vigilante while unapologetically clad in Star Wars pajama pants.

“You were saying?”

“You’re Bowie’s friend, right?” Red Robin crossed his arms. Harper mirrored the stance almost immediately.

“If you’re looking for her, she’s at work. But I am. What’s it to you?”

“No, I’m looking for you. You know that Bowie’s ex cheated on her?”

“Yeah. I also may have a copy of said ex’s room key.”

A long silence ensued as they appraised one another. Eventually, Red Robin stuck out his hand. “Partners?”

Harper eyed his hand suspiciously but shook it vigorously anyway. “I already have ideas.”

And so their planning began. Red Robin emptied out his bag of supplies that included (but were not limited to) a large, half-empty container of bright pink glitter, a bag of sand, and pop rocks. Fifteen minutes later, they unlocked Sara’s dorm door and tiptoed in to find no one there. (Which was expected. Harper’s snap map showed that Sara and her roommate were at a club fifteen minutes away.)

By the time they were done half an hour later, everything looked exactly the same.

However, chaos lurked just beneath the surface. 

The room itself was actually slightly off, but intentionally so. All the furniture had been moved two inches to the right, just enough so that Sara would bump her hip against her desk every time she walked in, but not enough for her to notice something wrong. The bag of sand had been scattered into her bedsheets.

The smoke alarm was set to go off at 3:00 every morning, sprinklers included, but only for Sara’s dorm. Fake roaches were painstakingly placed inside the ceiling light in a way that would make it impossible for Sara to remove them. (It had involved Red Robin somehow hanging upside down from the ceiling. Harper was pretty confident they’d hallucinated that part, but they couldn’t be sure.)

In the mini-kitchen, the chaos wasn’t immediately noticeable. However, the M&Ms and the Skittles in Sara’s mini-fridge had been mixed beyond recognition. The coffee grounds had been replaced with a mixture of dirt and salt. 

The soap in the shower had been replaced with bars of cream cheese, and the shower head had been filled with fine pink glitter that wouldn’t make an appearance until the shower was turned on. Speaking of the pink glitter, it had also been deposited into all of Sara’s shoes, socks, her tube of mascara, and her matte liquid lipsticks.

Red Robin had taken special pleasure in shoving pop rocks into her tube of toothpaste, and Harper had taken special pleasure in fucking up the order of Sara’s meticulously sorted artist pen collection. Bowie had rambled about it enough while they were dating that Harper couldn’t possibly forget how important that fucking pen collection was to Sara. And if it was important to Sara, it was Harper’s duty to fuck it up.

Sara had unwisely left her computer open, which sent both Red Robin and Harper into hysterics upon seeing it. In just a few minutes, they wreaked technological havoc. Harper switched Sara’s contact names for Bowie’s replacement (whom she had frequently been sexting) and her mom. Within ten minutes, Sara was signed up for every phone and email list imaginable, which included (but were not limited to) Viagra, Westboro Baptist Church, PETA, Parents Against Smoking E-Cigarettes, and daily encouragements from Jesus.com. 

Unbeknownst to Harper, Tim also took particular pleasure in emailing one of Sara’s professors (Tim’s favorite professor, actually) that Sara had caught an STD from her copious cheating and would thus not be in class that Monday.

Oh, the look she would get when she walked into class. Tim dreaded to think.

Eventually, Sara’s bitmoji began to move on the snap map and Red Robin and Harper quickly fled the scene, giggling all the way down the hallway. They slammed the door behind them in Harper’s dorm, and Harper flopped back onto Bowie’s bunk, laughing.

“Hey, so how do you know Bowie, anyway?”

“I, uh - she… deals me Red Bull.” Red Robin answered sheepishly. Harper snorted and waved him away playfully.

“Yeah, right.”

“No, I’m serious. She deals me Red Bull. She’s my dealer.”

“Mhm. Next thing I know, you’re gonna tell me that you’re her secret sugar daddy that bought her that gala dress.”

Red Robin went silent. Harper’s eyes widened and they sat up.

_“No fucking way.”_

“I actually gotta go, um, places to go, people to save, maybe I just really want to jump out this fucking window, who knows? Nice to meet you!” Red Robin called hastily and fucking sprinted to dive out of the window. 

Harper ran to the window and called after him, “Hey, if you’re gonna be buying stuff for random college kids, there’s this site called GC2B that I could use some shit from!”

And sure enough, less than a week later, a package from GC2B addressed to Harper appeared on the dorm windowsill. Bowie was the first to notice it. She pushed the window up, inspected the package, and tossed it to Harper.

“Dude, why the fuck is there a package for you on the windowsill?”

Harper tore open the package, held up the brand new binder, and grinned. Two could play at this game.

“It’s from my secret sugar daddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gift-giving is Tim’s love language. Sorry, I don’t make the rules. (Except I totally do.)
> 
> Sorry this update took a solid 2 weeks! I’ve been struggling with applying to college and working and sleeping enough and all that dumb shit. Anyway, I apologize.
> 
> I hope y’all enjoyed this fun little interlude-style chapter. I may do a couple more of these! They’re a fun way to establish the universe while not totally affecting the main plot. Like side quests. 
> 
> I fucking LIVE for your comments. The numbers on this fic thus far are absolutely insane. Thank you so much for reading and supporting. Know that it is always appreciated. :)


	17. Chapter 17

The Waynes had sent a  _ limousine. _

A limousine that looked horribly out of place idling outside of Gotham U’s run-down dorm buildings. A limousine that belonged to high society, not Gotham City.

Even so, as Bowie stood on the sidewalk and stared at it, a man exited the driver’s seat and held up a sign with “Bowie Chandler” written across it.

Right. Somehow, this was for  _ her. _

Bowie raised her hand in response and jogged in front of the car to greet the driver. She stuck out her hand and tried to make her grin seem as natural as possible.

“Hi, I’m Bowie Chandler-“

The driver opened the back seat door for her without a word or even a glance in her direction. Bowie got in without another word and sat on her hands in a failed attempt to keep them from shaking.

High society, as Bowie was quickly learning, was rude. 

The drive passed by in complete silence, and the next time a sound was made was when the door creaked as the driver opened it to let Bowie out. Bowie quietly thanked him and looked up at Wayne Manor, noting the obvious construction that was underway on the ballroom.

Back again.

She had made it three-quarters through the long, lonely walk up the stairs when the huge door opened. To her credit, Bowie only panicked a little, but she sped up and by the time she was at the door, she was breathing hard and her face was bright red.

The old man at the door didn’t seem to care. He just stood there with a knowing smile.

“...hi, I’m Bowie Chandler, from Gotham U - Gazette. Gotham Gazette. Yeah.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Chandler. Master Bruce has been expecting you.”

Hold up.

“Um - sir, there must be some mistake, I’m only supposed to be talking to his sons today, I think?”

“Of course. Master Bruce merely wanted to welcome you into his home, since you’ll be visiting us every two weeks,” the old man explained. Bowie took a shaky breath and nodded. The old man motioned for her to follow and set off into the house. Bowie followed, almost in a daze.

Meeting Bruce Wayne had  _ not _ been on today’s agenda.

The old man took her into a living room and led her to a couch. “Master Bruce will send for you shortly. I will be back to escort you.” He turned to leave and almost made it out of the room before Bowie worked up the guts to call out to him.

“What’s your name? If you don’t mind me asking. Since we’re gonna be seeing each other every two weeks, too.”

The man turned around and offered her another smile.

“My name is Alfred Pennyworth. Feel free to refer to me as Alfred.”

He left the room without another word, and Bowie sat there in silence. A silence which was broken almost immediately with a loud burst of off-key Christmas music from the other room.

“JINGLE BELLS, BATMAN SMELLS,” A single voice screeched, and another voice whined, “Oh my god, Jason, PLEASE stop-“

Yes, Bowie had been told to wait in the living room, but this was too good to pass up. She tiptoed down the hallway and peeked into what appeared to be yet  _ another _ massive foyer, complete with an upper level and a winding staircase.

Jason Todd was jogging around a massive Christmas tree and throwing garlands on it as he continued on, screaming, “ROBIN LAID AN EGG!” 

Dick Grayson was hanging upside-down from a chandelier at least twenty feet in the air, adjusting the star on top of the tree and looking like he was about to combust. Bowie wasn’t sure whether his face was red because of the gravity, or because of Todd’s intentionally off-key singing. Probably both. 

“THE BATMOBILE LOST ITS FUCKING WHEEL - hey, kid, what the fuck are you doing here?” 

Oops. Busted. 

Todd crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, but Bowie could tell that he wasn’t actually suspicious of her. Grayson looked over and his eyes lit up. He swung over to the bannister and slid down the staircase railing Mary Poppins style as Bowie stammered, trying to come up with a good response.

“Hi - I, uh - the Gazette asked me to be your… correspondent? They said you had a hand in it, Mr. Grayson.”

“Oh, please, Dick is fine,” Grayson cheerfully avoided her unspoken question and hopped off of the railing in front of her.

“Dickhead works too,” Todd added and Grayson elbowed him hard in the side. Todd opened his mouth and was about to retort when Alfred’s voice rang out from the other room, echoing off the walls.

“Miss Chandler? Master Wayne is ready to see you.” He called. Todd whistled in response.

“Damn, you got called in? Good luck with that.” Bowie was pretty sure her face visibly paled. This time, Grayson actually shoved Todd across the room (he fell on his ass with an indignant shout) and quickly turned back to Bowie to get in his advice before Todd retaliated.

“Don’t listen to him. You’ll be fine. He’s not too threatening, just be honest with him. We’ll be here when you get back-“ He was cut off by Todd’s retaliation, which came in the form of a punch to the gut, and then they were off. Bowie quickly turned around and jogged into the other room because she did  _ not _ want to be complicit in any Christmas trees being possibly tipped over. 

Why was she so nervous? This was literally  _ Brucie Wayne  _ she was seeing.

Alfred led her to a study and quietly opened the door. “Master Bruce, your visitor is here.”

Bruce Wayne sat with his back to the entrance, large and looming and downright terrifying. This was not the body language Bowie was used to seeing from Brucie. Maybe she was right to be scared.

She glanced to the side to thank Alfred, but he was already gone. Jesus Christ, what had she gotten herself into?

Bruce spun around in his chair and motioned to the chair in front of his desk, a small smile on his face.

“Please. Sit.”

Bowie sat and clasped her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking.

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Chandler. I understand you attended our gala a few weeks ago. Allow me to extend my sincerest apologies for the injuries you suffered.”

“Oh, it’s really no problem, my leg is fine now. Thank  _ you _ for paying the hospital bills.”

Bruce waved her off easily. “That was all Tim. Trust me, I would have paid, and I was willing to, but he insisted. Said he knew you personally.”

Huh. Interesting.

“I understand the Gazette sent you?” Bruce asked, easily changing the subject. He was obviously a pro at this. Bowie would have to keep herself on high alert.

“Yes, they did, sir.”

“And they sent you because, and I quote, you seemed to click with my boys at the gala.”

“...yes, I guess I did, sir.”

“Why?”

Bowie suddenly found herself at a loss for words. Why  _ had  _ she connected with the Wayne boys so easily? Why had they come to her first, almost like they had sought her out?

“...to be completely honest with you, Mr. Wayne, I’m not really sure. Like you said, we just seemed to click. Maybe it’s because I’m closer to their age? I honestly don’t know.”

Bruce folded his hands in front of him and leaned forward on the desk. “You understand that my boys have a… difficult relationship with the media. My daughter doesn’t even attend events anymore because of the media.”

“Yes, sir, I understand. I’ve done my research, I’ve seen the Jason FOX News interview, I know.”

The corner of Bruce’s mouth seemed to twitch upward at the mention of that interview, but he quickly corrected it. “I was apprehensive about letting you enter my home, but my boys wouldn't hear of it. They wanted you here.”

“Even Damian?” The question slipped out before Bowie could even think about it. A long moment of silence (in which Bowie mentally wrote out her will) stretched between them. 

“Yes. Even Damian.”

“...Mr. Wayne, I just want to assure you that I have nothing but the best intentions. Even if I wanted to hurt your children, they’re more than capable of stopping me. And I’m just a broke college kid. I don’t pose much of a threat.”

“No, you don’t,” Bruce agreed easily. Ouch.

“I like your kids, and I want to get to know them better, but I’m here on a job, and I’m a professional. Technically. So… can I ask you a question?”

Bruce seemed to mull it over (there was the characteristic avoidance of questions) but eventually he sat back and motioned her to continue. “Shoot.”

Okay. Just asking Bruce Wayne a question. No big deal.

“As an influential figure in Gotham high society and in the city and the nation as a whole, what is your opinion on the vigilante group led by the Batman that patrols the city?” Bowie asked as she pulled out her notebook and pen.

Bruce thought it over, slightly tilting his head to the side. “...I won’t lie to you, they aren’t perfect. They do a lot of harm to this city. But they also do a lot more good. They’re preventing the crimes that can be prevented, and stopping crimes in progress. So I believe that they’re a positive influence.”

“Do you have a working relationship with the Batman?”

Bruce’s expression immediately closed off. “Can’t confirm or deny.”

And that looked like Bowie’s cue to leave. She crossed out that question in her notebook and stood up, offering Bruce her hand. 

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne. I look forward to working together. Would it be alright if I interviewed a couple of your kids today?”

Bruce stood and walked around the desk to firmly shake her hand, plastering on the trademark dopey grin. That was the first Bowie had seen of Brucie Wayne all day. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you as well, Miss Chandler. As you’re aware, they don’t take well to interviews, but feel free to try. Good luck.”

Good luck, he said. Bowie had her work cut out for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh... hi! Sorry it’s been like three weeks. School kicked my ass.
> 
> ALSO WE HIT 10K HITS???? AND 800 KUDOS??? WHAT?!?!?!?!??! I love every single one of you so much. WOW. Thank you.
> 
> Side note: that FOX News interview I’m referring to is the one I referenced back in the gala chapter. Jason turned every single question into some sort of sexual innuendo. It was a PR nightmare.
> 
> Sorry that this chapter is a little shorter than usual! I should be able to crank out at least a few over Christmas break. My birthday is coming up too, so that’s fun. :)
> 
> Come back next time to see Bowie interview the boys + cass!!!
> 
> Have a great night/day!! Comments and kudos fuel me and motivate me to come back and write for you guys, even when I have four papers due by Friday. <3


	18. Chapter 18

Bowie flipped through her notebook as she made her way down the stairs, mind racing. That had not been the level of conversation she had expected from the patriarch of the Wayne family. He had exceeded her expectations by _far._ Everything about him, from his body language to his vocabulary, had been far beyond what she had prepared for, and his answer to her question somehow only opened the door to more questions.

One thing was very clear, though. Bruce and Brucie were two _very_ different people.

Once again, Bowie was snapped out of her reverie by voices down the hallway. She quickly hid behind a pillar (seriously, who decided to include _this many pillars_ into one house?!) and listened.

“Master Jason, please do attempt to behave yourself. We have a guest.”

“Yeah, well, the last time she was here, a wall fell on her, Alfie. She’s probably freaking out. I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, please do so in a more refined manner. I’d like to think I’ve raised you better than this.”

“In terms of us, this _is_ refined! You know I already know her pretty damn well-“

...yeah, that was a little weird. Bowie had only met him once, right?

Okay. Bowie had a job to do. She couldn’t just stand here and listen. She stepped out from behind the pillar and quietly knocked on the doorframe. Todd turned around and she offered him a small grin. This was fine. Todd seemed to behave around her, and at least it wasn’t Drake.

“Hi. Is it okay if I ask you a few questions?”

“Oh, sure, kiddo. In fact - HEY, FUCKERS, GET YOUR ASSES DOWN HERE!” Todd screeched over his shoulder and Bowie failed to hide her flinch. Todd turned back to her again and gave her a Cheshire Cat grin. 

“Sorry about that. They were all supposed to be down here, but I’m the only one who fucking listens to Alfred. C’mon.” Todd sauntered out of the dining room and Bowie followed close behind, smiling at Alfred as they left the room.

She hadn’t interacted with him much, but she liked Alfred.

“I think Timbo has Steph over? Could be wrong. Well, she’s here _constantly,_ so she’s probably here, actually. Dunno if Cass is gonna show,” Todd rambled as he led her down the hallway. Bowie let him talk to himself until he made a left turn into a room with _four couches_ and two boys.

“C’mon, Duke, she’s fun! She’s good at her job!” 

“I’ll tell you what she is, she’s got to be crazy to come back here after what happened last time-“

“Hey, she’s here!” Todd interrupted and both Grayson and… a kid Bowie didn’t recognize looked her way. Wait a second, yes she did recognize him. She tilted her head and pointed her pen at him.

“Duke Thomas, right? You’re in my calculus class!” She exclaimed. Thomas scratched the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly.

“Yeah, that’s me. Nice to actually talk to you. Listen… the public doesn’t really know I’m here, so is it okay if I sit in on the interview but-“

“I don’t have to include you.” Bowie assured him. Duke’s shoulders instantly relaxed and his grin became a little more genuine.

“Great. Thank you.”

Bowie heard footsteps stomping down the stairs and turned around to see Damian Wayne dragging Timothy _fucking_ Drake into the room. Yet again, Drake froze up when he saw her, and yet again, her eyes narrowed at him.

“Hi, Drake.” Drake opened his mouth to respond, but a blonde slid into the room (fuzzy socks on hardwood floors, nice) and cut him off.

“Hi! I’m Tim’s friend, Stephanie. Please don’t include me in the interview. I live down the hall from you at Gotham U. It’s nice to meet you!” Stephanie grabbed Bowie’s hand and shook it somewhat vigorously. After a moment of surprise, Bowie returned the handshake, grinning.

“It’s nice to meet you too! Hi, Damian,” she added over her shoulder and received a huff in response. Yeah, same old brat.

Within the next thirty seconds, Grayson managed to get all the various children into their seats on the various couches. Bowie sat cross-legged in the comfiest armchair she had ever had the privilege to sit in, clicking her pen absentmindedly.

“Okay. Hi everybody!” Bowie received a chorus of hello’s in return and grinned. Three words in, and so far, so good.

“I figure you guys are used to the questions about business and all your foundations and everything. That’s all anybody ever reads about you guys. So… I figured I’d switch it up a little bit. Let the public see that you’re actually human beings.”

Grayson’s eyebrow raised and Todd leaned forward in his seat. Again, positive reactions so far, except for Wayne Jr., who was glaring characteristically, and Drake, who was avoiding her gaze. Again. 

“Here’s my first question. Answer carefully, for your response could change the public’s entire perception of you.”

The room waited with bated breath.

“What’s your favorite Christmas movie?”

 _“Die Hard.”_ Todd answered immediately, and Drake groaned.

 _“Die Hard_ is NOT a Christmas movie, Jason-“

“Yes it is, Drake, what the fuck?” Bowie cut him off and instantly regretted it. That was unprofessional. She was here to interview them, not banter with them.

And yet… it was strangely easy to banter with them. Familiar, almost.

Regardless, none of the kids batted an eye at her interruption as the room exploded into arguments. After at least five minutes, Bowie finally managed to scribble down their answers and a few words explaining their reasoning.

  * Grayson - A Christmas Story (a classic)

  * Todd - Die Hard (explosions, badassery)

  * Fucking Drake - The Grinch (thinks it’s relatable. okay edgelord)

  * Bite Size - Home Alone (no reason given)

  * Stephanie - Elf (she wants to try the cereal ~~abomination~~ thing)

  * Duke - Love, Actually (loves love which is adorable)




“Okay. Alright. Who’s your favorite Gotham vigilante?”

“Signal.” Drake answered confidently, sitting back with his arms crossed. He was immediately swatted by at least four people, and various shouts of, “Signal? Are you SERIOUS?!” echoed through the massive halls around them. Bowie failed to stifle her laugh as the conversation rapidly devolved yet again. This was way too much fun.

  * Grayson - Robin (Red Hood too violent, Signal too lame)

  * Todd - Red Hood (“gets job done??” is he okay??)

  * Fucking Drake - Signal (?????? he’s so fucking dumb)

  * Starbucks Size Tall - Nightwing (no reason given)

  * Stephanie - Red Robin (cute)

  * Duke - Spoiler (purple)




“Dumbest way you’ve ever been injured?”

All eyes went straight to Grayson, who groaned and then loudly admitted, “Fine, I broke the chandelier. But I was like _eight_ at the time.”

  * Dick - broke the chandelier and fell like twenty feet to the ground and yet is somehow still alive

  * Jason - first answer was “got blown up”, presumably a joke about the old death rumors (hopefully). real answer is got punched by a homeless man at the tender age of six. man needs some fucking therapy.

  * FUCKING Drake - got his dumb hair caught in a fan

  * Gremlin - gave no answer, so drake answered for him. got bitten by his own dog and cried at the betrayal. mood.

  * Steph - fell down a fire escape. no context given. i kind of want context.

  * Duke - running away during a weekly gotham crisis and tripped over batman’s cape. also tripped batman in the process. absolutely iconic.




After a few more questions, Bowie stood up and clapped her hands together. “Alright! That’s all I need from you guys today. It’s a pretty short column, so that should be more than enough. Thanks so much for cooperating. I may catch a few of you individually just to ask you questions, but the group part is over.”

Jason pushed himself off of the couch and haphazardly saluted her before exiting the room. Again, something felt oddly familiar about that salute. Curiouser and curiouser. Drake got up and shuffled out next, dragging Stephanie along behind him. Dick left the room with Duke, both of them offering her friendly waves.

And that left Damian, who looked like he would rather be anywhere else and who was rapidly attempting to escape.

Too late. Bowie had noticed the wall behind her.

“Hey, Damian, did you paint that?”

Damian froze and slowly turned around in the doorway.

“...I did. What of it?”

Bowie stepped closer to the painting to inspect it. It was a beautiful depiction of a black and white cat staring into the camera, framed in mahogany that was probably more expensive than Bowie’s college education.

The tiny, elegant ‘D. Wayne’ signature in the bottom right corner made her strangely sentimental. Such a small, simple act of pride in his work.

“It’s absolutely beautiful. Is this your cat?” She asked as she turned to face him again. Damian nodded and strode back into the room to stand next to her.

“Indeed. This is Alfred.”

“...Alfred, like your butler?”

“I would have thought that to be obvious.” Even as his voice dripped in condescension, Damian’s face softened the longer he looked at the cat.

Bowie saw an opening and she was damn well going to take advantage of it.

“Can I see the cat? If that’s okay, of course,” Bowie added, shifting her weight back and forth. Damian raised an eyebrow but turned on his heel to head for the stairs. Bowie resolved to wait for him and sat in the same armchair.

To her surprise, once Damian reached the foot of the stairwell, he turned back around.

“Well, Chandler? Alfred doesn’t care to be moved. We will have to go to him. Come.”

Before Bowie knew it, she was _upstairs in Wayne Manor._ What the fuck. Damian led her past countless bedrooms; some doors closed, some open. On the way, they passed an open door, and Bowie caught a fleeting glimpse of Stephanie painting Drake’s nails and the inimitable glimmer of a Red Bull can. There was another girl in there, too - Cassandra Cain. Cain looked up to see Bowie walking by and her eyes narrowed in distrust.

Great first impression there. Bowie had always heard that Cain had favored Drake, but somehow, she hadn’t factored her own dislike of Drake into how Cain would perceive her. And considering her absence from the group interview, things weren’t looking too good.

Eventually, Damian pushed her inside a room and slammed the door shut behind them. He knelt down and retrieved a cat from under the bed. When he stood, he was holding the cat like an evil villain from the movies. It was slightly adorable.

“This is Alfred. He doesn’t care for new people, so respectfully, I’m not inclined to let you touch him yet. Perhaps on your next visit.” Bowie nodded in agreement. That sounded like a fair deal. Damian gave her a final nod and gestured to the door.

On her way down the hallway, Bowie heard footsteps exiting Drake’s room and _froze._ Nope, she would not be voluntarily conversing with Drake today. She looked around frantically for a hiding spot, knowing full well that the clock was ticking, and decided to settle for the closed door to her right. 

The door closed quietly behind her, and Bowie turned around to see… a kid’s room?

It was a kid’s room that hadn’t been used in at least five years. A fine layer of dust coated the surfaces, thick enough to indicate disuse but also thin enough to indicate that the room was still being regularly cleaned.

So it held some sort of significance, then.

Bowie took a few cautious steps into the room and looked down at the desk. An algebra textbook laid open precariously close to the edge, and the matching notebook rested next to it. Whatever kid had lived here hadn’t even gotten to finish the homework. From the looks of it, something had happened midway through. 

Bowie glanced around the rest of the room. The bed wasn’t made, the clothes weren’t folded, the textbook wasn’t closed, the homework wasn’t finished. All indications pointed to some sort of tragedy that the Waynes couldn’t bear to move past.

“Who told you you could come in here?”

Bowie jumped about five feet in the air and whipped around to see Jason standing in the doorway, looking suspiciously more guarded than usual.

“Whose room is this?” She asked, deciding to forego the usual ‘Jesus you scared me’ and all that. That was reserved for the bats. 

“The door was closed. That should have been enough indication that you’re not supposed to be in here.”

“You’re avoiding the question. Who does this room belong to, Jason?”

Jason was silent for a long moment.

“...nobody. It doesn’t belong to anybody. Not anymore.”

Bowie snorted and snatched up the textbook from the desk, flipping through the pages. “Yeah, that’s bullshit, buddy. This is _clearly_ a teenage boy’s room, probably early high school judging from the algebra book - hey, look, a name on the inside cover! It _does_ belong to someone-“

The name on the cover somehow both sank in slowly and hit Bowie like a ton of bricks. She looked up slowly, face slack in shock.

“...this is your room?”

A muscle in Jason’s jaw twitched. “The car is outside waiting for you.”

“You can’t kick me out now. How can this be your room?”

“Bowie. You need to go.” Jason’s voice was low and dangerous, but Bowie wasn’t about to be deterred.

“I’m not gonna write about it, but it doesn’t make any sense-“

“Get the fuck out _now_ or I swear to god, we’re _both_ going to regret it.”

Okay. Maybe Bowie was about to be deterred.

She quickly left the room and bid a quick farewell to Alfred (the butler) before fleeing the house as well. The car door slammed behind her and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, mind spinning.

Somehow, even after finishing an interview, she was leaving Wayne Manor with more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh... oops? I am so sorry (again) for the long gap between updates! This was an absolute BEAR of a chapter. I kept rewriting and rewriting to get it absolutely perfect for you guys. I still don’t think it’s totally perfect, but it’s pretty good, I think.
> 
> Also, some of you have definitely seen my batfam tiktoks and it terrifies me.
> 
> Bowie’s slowly starting to collect clues, you guys...
> 
> (I got a few new comments yesterday that inspired me to finish this chapter so plz comment guys I love you <3)


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